


A Nightmare Before Christmas

by BlackFriar



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Explicit Language, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-08 13:10:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5498150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackFriar/pseuds/BlackFriar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Robin is seriously injured on patrol, Batman suffers a crisis of faith.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“I think life has spared those mortals much – and cheated them of more – who have not kept a breathless vigil by the little bed of some beloved child.” Faith Baldwin.

oOo

Bruce brushed snowflakes from his shoulders as he stepped into the foyer of Wayne Manor. The small flurry that had been falling as he left Wayne Enterprises was now a heavy snowfall, and forecasters were predicting a blizzard before night.

The billionaire scowled as he removed his coat. A blizzard could prove disastrous to his plans for smashing the drug ring that had been wreaking havoc in Gotham for weeks now: heavy shipments of heroin had been circulating on the streets, while a new strain of ecstasy that had resulted in several overdoses was rampant in the clubs. Bruce believed the source to be a crime lord named Oleg Petrov – a violent, brutal man not known for his humanity – but he had yet to uncover any concrete evidence to connect the drugs to Petrov. However, his surveillance over the last few weeks pointed to a massive shipment coming into Gotham tonight. If Batman could catch Petrov in action, physically connect him to the drugs, Gordon would be able to put him away for a very long time. But if a blizzard derailed Petrov’s plans and delayed the arrival of the shipment, it could potentially be several weeks more before Petrov and his drugs were off the streets.

Bruce’s scowl deepened. He couldn’t allow that to happen.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred’s voice sounded behind him, “have you seen the weather report?”

“Unfortunately.” He turned to face the butler. “Alfred, would it be possible to have dinner a little earlier? I want to leave for Gotham sooner than we originally planned in case Petrov moves the shipment up to beat the weather.”

“You think he will still go ahead with his plan when forecasters are advising that we batten down the hatches?” 

“I can’t take the risk that he’ll sneak past me somehow – there’s too much at stake here.”

“I see.”

Bruce sensed disapproval in his tone. “Something on your mind, Alfred?”

“Do you still plan on bringing Master Dick with you?”

Bruce sighed. He should have known. This was about Robin. “Yes. I need him on this. Everything points to the shipment coming in by boat, so I need to be in close proximity to the docks. But someone still needs to scan the radio frequencies and maintain an aerial view in case the shipment arrives by other means. That’s even more critical now with current weather warnings.” 

“And Master Dick is the best person for the job?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Bruce ground out. Despite the fact that Dick had been Robin for almost two years now, Alfred still disapproved. “This is a two-man operation and Dick knows the layout of Gotham’s docks and shipyards. Plus he’s familiar with how Petrov operates.”

“Dare I suggest, sir, that Mr. Kent also possesses those attributes? And he has the added advantage of being slightly more weather-resistant than an eleven-year-old.”

Damn. Bruce scowled. Why had he ever consulted Clark on this? Oh yeah, because the Big Blue Boy Scout had done a piece on Petrov several years ago when he was operating out of Metropolis. Clark had even met the man briefly. And because Bruce had wanted as much information as possible on the crime lord to make it easier to second-guess him, he had quizzed Clark thoroughly on his dealings with him. 

Alfred had a point about Clark, but Bruce just wasn’t in the mood to deal with the Kryptonian tonight: the man was annoyingly chipper at the best of times, but he was downright unbearable at Christmas. “I’m sure Clark will have enough on his hands if this blizzard they’re forecasting hits.”

“And if it does, sir? Will you and Master Dick be safe in Gotham?”

Bruce knew that Alfred wasn’t worried about Batman, who had endured many blizzards before. He was worried about Robin. “Alfred, Dick will be fine.”

The butler sighed. “You know best, Master Bruce. But I do wish you wouldn’t drag him out in such treacherous weather to face a bunch of dangerous men the day before Christmas Eve.”

Bruce couldn’t help but feel a stab of guilt. This would be Dick’s third Christmas at the manor, and the first time he was actually looking forward to it; he had spent the previous two Christmases grieving heavily for his parents. Bruce knew he should be doing more Christmas-type stuff with the boy, but he honestly didn’t know what that would even _involve._ He hadn’t exactly celebrated the holiday since his own parents’ deaths. 

But he supposed he could try. Dick clearly wanted him to. Less than three nights ago he had convinced Bruce to watch a movie with him that he enthusiastically proclaimed was a Christmas classic. The title, _It’s a Wonderful Life,_ had turned out to be somewhat misleading. The main character, George something or other, had spent his whole life in a small town that he wanted nothing more than to escape from. After some underhand behaviour by the film’s requisite bad guy, George had found himself facing the threat of ruination and the undoing of all the good achieved by the sacrifices he had made. Cue a crisis of faith with the man wishing he had never been born, while some ridiculous angel in an undershirt granted his wish. Bruce had found the whole thing trite, ridiculous and somewhat depressing for a movie that was supposed to epitomise how wonderful life was. He had fallen asleep before the end and awoken just as the credits rolled to find Dick’s disappointed face staring at him.

The memory nipped at his conscience and Bruce sighed. Fine. He would do something about the whole Christmas thing tomorrow, but tonight, they needed to bring Oleg Petrov down. “I’ll make it up to him tomorrow, Alfred, but tonight’s mission is important. And you still haven’t answered my question about dinner.”

The older man pursed his lips before responding. “I can move dinner up to an hour from now, if that will be sufficient, sir?” 

“It will. Thank you, Alfred.” Bruce looked around. “Where’s Dick?” It had just occurred to him that the boy hadn’t darted full-tilt into the hallway to greet him as he usually did when Batman and Robin had something big planned for the evening.

“I believe the young sir is in the den if you would like to inform him of your change in plans.” Without another word, Alfred returned to the kitchen.

Bruce stared after him, frowning. He had to admit, the old man’s disapproval stung, and he wondered if Alfred would ever approve of Robin. Bruce was getting tired of constantly trying to justify Robin’s existence, especially when it sometimes seemed as though Alfred had a point. Dick was just a boy, throwing his childhood away on a crusade that bordered on futile: Gotham didn’t seem to be getting any better.

He was troubled as he headed for the den. Drawing near, he could hear Dick talking from inside the room. The boy was obviously on the phone.

“…fight Joker and then tell me Gotham’s villains are lamer!”

Bruce froze, his hand on the door. Why was Dick talking about crime fighting on the Manor phone line?

He heard Dick snort. “Yeah, right! Wally, I could kick your butt any day of the week!”

Bruce narrowed his eyes. He was talking to West. From the Manor. Unacceptable. Dick knew he was forbidden from contacting the junior speedster from the house because it would be too easy to trace the number. He and the boy were going to have words about this.

“Walls, any fight-off will have to wait until after Christmas,” Dick was now saying. “Bruce is taking time off work and I really want to do some stuff with him.”

The billionaire stiffened. Had Dick just used his real name? To West? When had the boy revealed his identity to the loud-mouthed teenager? Bruce had never given him permission to do so! Furious, he pushed the door open.

Dick was curled in the leather chair behind the antique desk, his legs tucked under him. He looked up as Bruce entered and blanched at the look on his guardian’s face.

“Wally, I’m going to have to call you back,” Dick whispered, never taking his eyes off of Bruce. Slowly, he put the phone down. “You heard,” he said quietly.

“Yes.” Bruce folded his arms and glared at him. “When did you tell him?”

Dick squirmed under his gaze. “A couple of months ago.”

“But you’ve only known him for a couple of months!” Bruce was beyond furious now. “How soon after meeting him did you tell that fool your real name?”

“Wally’s not a fool!” 

“Well, he certainly acts like it sometimes. Dick, how could you be so stupid?” 

Dick flushed and sat up straighter in the chair, slowly peeling his legs out from under him. “I’m not stupid! Wally’s my best friend and–”

“He’s a teenager who doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut and you told him who you really are! You barely even know him. What were you thinking?”

Bruce’s voice was getting louder and Dick wilted. “I…I just wanted to tell him who I really am. Please don’t be mad, Bruce.”

Dick’s blue eyes were wide and upset, and Bruce would have felt guilty if he weren’t so concerned. Why didn’t Dick realize how _serious_ this was? “Dick, you told a boy you’ve only known for a short period of time your real name, a boy who has done nothing to indicate that he can be trusted, and who has proven that he will blurt things out when he’s under pressure! Did you use your head at all?”

The billionaire was trying to keep his temper in check. Didn’t Dick understand the danger he would be in if West screwed up? How would he keep the boy safe if it got out who Robin really was?

Dick stood up and came around the desk towards Bruce, his hands out in a placating gesture. “Wally won’t tell anyone, I swear! He can be trusted, Bruce.”

“How do you know he can be trusted?”

The boy hesitated. “I just know,” he mumbled finally.

“That’s not an answer.”

Dick shrugged, the action infuriating Bruce further. He unfolded his arms. “That’s it, you’re grounded. No friends, no phone, no TV and, after tonight, no Robin duties for two weeks.” 

Dick’s mouth dropped open. “ _Two weeks?!_ But…it’s Christmas.”

“That’s how disappointed I am in you.” Bruce pointed a finger at Dick. “And Robin wouldn’t even be coming tonight if it weren’t so important to put Petrov behind bars.”

“This isn’t fair!”

“Fair?” Bruce echoed dangerously. “Dick, I told you _never_ to reveal your real name to anyone, and you disobeyed me.”

“You told the League _your_ name,” Dick pointed out sulkily. “I don’t see how Wally is any different.”

“Not everyone in the League knows my real name. And those who do had proven themselves as heroes long before I ever met them, and I took the time to get to know them, trust them, before I revealed my identity. West has barely started in the guise of Kid Flash and we still don’t know if he can be trusted.”

“Of course he can be trusted! He’s Flash’s nephew.”

“By marriage, not blood,” Bruce reminded him. “And association with other heroes is no indication of trustworthiness. Trust has to be _earned_.”

“With you!” Dick shot back suddenly, angry splotches of colour on each of his cheeks. “Trust has to be earned with you! I like to give people the benefit of the doubt first.”

Sometimes Dick’s naivety flat out scared Bruce. “A foolish inclination that could get you killed. Dick, you aren’t to speak to West outside of Robin activities again. It’s too risky.”

“You’re not being fair! Wally’s known for months and he hasn’t told anyone! Not a single soul.”

“Not yet.”

“You won’t even give him a chance!” Dick stamped a foot in frustration. “Wally’s my best friend; you can’t force me to not speak to him!”

“I can and I will. Keep pushing me and I’ll make your punishment last a month.”

The boy’s face twisted in anger, hurt and disappointment. Without another word, he slipped around Bruce and ran from the room, slamming the door behind him.

The billionaire stared at the closed door and rubbed his temples. He probably could have handled that better, but why was this so hard for Dick to understand? Secrecy was _crucial_ for Batman and Robin. Every criminal in Gotham wanted revenge on Batman, and when Robin had first hit the streets, his presence had incited the criminal underworld into a blood-thirsty frenzy. It was obvious they thought he was Batman’s son, making him one of the underworld’s biggest targets. But Robin’s stellar training and impressive skill set, along with Batman’s caution, ensured they were never able to lay hands on the boy.

Bruce had known from the outset that criminals would target Robin to get at him, but he hadn’t anticipated the level that some were willing to go to. Joker was particularly troubling in his obsession with Robin. Therefore, keeping their identities secret was of paramount importance. Why couldn’t Dick understand that instead of blabbing to the first child hero he had become friendly with?

Bruce scowled. West hadn’t been operating as a hero long enough to prove himself trustworthy. Sure, he was enthusiastic, but that only made his motormouth tendencies worse! How could a boy like that be a reliable confidante? And Bruce was expected to trust him with Dick’s identity? Hell no!

He wondered seriously if he could convince Martian Manhunter to wipe the memory from the teenager’s brain.

oOo

Dinner was a silent, uncomfortable affair: Bruce had conveyed his displeasure by refusing to look at or speak to Dick throughout the entire meal. Dick had spent it staring at his plate as he tried to force food down his throat. And now his stomach was churning as he stared miserably out of the window at the falling snow while Batman and Robin drove into Gotham.

Dick knew he should have told Bruce that he revealed his identity to Wally, but he’d been putting it off because he knew the man wouldn’t take it well. Bruce trusted no one – not even Clark! – and he was paranoid beyond belief about security. The fewer people who knew things about him, the better he liked it. But Dick needed people around him. He had found it very hard not having anyone to confide in about Robin stuff until Wally came along. It wasn’t exactly easy to tell Batman when Robin was scared about something. The only thing Batman understood about fear was how to inflict it.

But Robin could talk to Kid Flash. 

Kid Flash understood every fear or insecurity that Robin experienced because he had them too – doubly so because he was new to the whole Superhero gig. Plus Wally liked all the same things that Dick did and he was just so _easy_ to talk to. Dick hadn’t been able to get too close to anyone in school because he was worried about letting stuff slip, so he’d been feeling somewhat isolated for a long time. Bruce was great and everything, but he was hardly ever _here._ Between running Wayne Enterprises, protecting Gotham and heading the Justice League, Dick was lucky just to see his guardian every day.

So when he and Wally had struck up a friendship, it had been everything the lonely boy had been looking for, what he had been missing since his parents died – closeness, trust, warmth. Dick had wanted to prove that he valued their friendship every bit as much as Wally did, and he wanted to keep their friendship equal. After all, why should he know who Wally was when Wally didn’t know who _he_ was? Dick knew Wally would never betray him. Why couldn’t Bruce see that? He wished he could make Bruce understand how important this was to him. But human feelings were too irrational for Bruce sometimes, and asking him to trust a gut instinct was like asking him to let Dick play with guns.

The boy sighed, making the glass frost with his breath. He had actually been looking forward to Christmas this year, and now it was ruined because Bruce didn’t know how to trust people. 

“Robin. Did you hear what I said?”

Dick started, and whipped his head around. Batman was staring at him with a less than pleased expression. Oh, right. He was supposed to be Robin right now, and Robin paid attention. 

Dick hadn’t even noticed the car stopping.

Reluctantly, he shook his head and Batman hummed with displeasure. “We’re here. This building has the highest vantage point in the vicinity of the docks so you will situate yourself on its roof. I want you to stay there once they show. Petrov and his men are known for their shoot-first-ask-questions-later tendencies. Maintain radio silence unless it’s an emergency. When you see them approach, signal me and then contact Captain Gordon.”

“What if you need help?”

“Stay. _Put,_ ” Batman reiterated, frowning. “Gordon and the police will assist me once they get here.”

Robin knew better than to sulk, but he couldn’t help feeling like this was further punishment. Climbing out of the car, he watched as Batman reversed and drove back down the street to park the bat-mobile out of sight. Then he retrieved his grapple gun and fired a line at the tall building, before activating the recoil that propelled him upwards into the rapidly swirling snow.


	2. Chapter 2

Robin stamped his feet to try and keep warm while he squinted through his binoculars at the streets below. His teeth were chattering and he wished that he had worn the arctic version of his costume: Bruce’s new thermal design for Kevlar was pretty good at keeping the heat in, but his head was still uncovered and his ears were _freezing._

Lowering the binoculars and looking across the rooftops at the city, Robin couldn’t help but feel a little intimidated. It had been almost thirty minutes since he and Batman had arrived, and the snow was rapidly increasing in intensity: it looked like the blizzard that forecasters were predicting was fast approaching the city. Robin had never seen so much snow in all his life! 

The city itself seemed practically deserted, with most Gothamites choosing to heed weather warnings and remain indoors. The vast white that blanketed the city combined with streets devoid of life created an atmosphere of isolation and eeriness. It felt like one of those movies where the city gets decimated by some disaster and pretty much everybody dies, leaving just a few people to battle the elements alone. 

The image unsettled Robin, and he couldn’t help the chill of foreboding that rattled down his back. He shook himself. _Get a grip! It’s just snow._

Scanning the radio frequencies again in an effort to distract himself from the cold, Robin grumbled to himself. He couldn’t see _why_ they had to stake out the place so early: Petrov wasn’t due for at least another hour, and he seriously doubted whether _any_ criminal – even Joker – would be stupid enough to make an appearance in this weather. Sure enough, the radio remained annoyingly silent. 

Too silent. 

Robin’s mind sharpened into alertness; where was the static? He fiddled with the radio until a series of loud clicks echoed over the bandwidth. The boy frowned. That didn’t sound like interference, someone was jamming the signal!

Swinging the binoculars back in the direction of the docks, Robin could barely make out the large warehouses that littered them at various points. The snow was whipping into a frenzy around him as the wind picked up speed, and visibility had fallen to almost nothing. Robin lowered his binoculars. Despite Batman’s orders to stay here, he would have to get closer to the docks. He could see nothing from here.

He reached for his grapple gun and fired a line towards the building across the street, tugging to make sure the grapple had found a grip in all that snow. Robin was positioning himself on the parapet and preparing to swing, when a rumble in the distance drew his attention. Squinting, he could just make out a set of headlights making its way through the howling blizzard from six blocks away. He blinked in surprise. Surely no one was stupid enough to venture out in this. Well, stupider than him and Batman anyway.

A second, larger set of double headlights appeared behind the first set and Robin frowned. No way could that second set belong to a regular car or van; they were too big and too high. He guessed they belonged to a large truck – probably an eighteen-wheeler or something similar – but he couldn’t think of a single reason a vehicle like that would be on the road in weather like this.

Unless it was transporting something that couldn’t be transported by any other means.

The lights turned left and vanished, and Robin felt a frisson of alarm. The shipment! It had to be. Why else would those lights show up just after something had jammed the radio signals? The weather must have forced Petrov to change his plans. Robin instinctively reached for his communicator to signal Batman, but caught himself. _Duh! Comm’s jammed._

He bit his lip. He had no idea where his mentor was hiding at the docks, and scrambling around trying to find him in this white-out might give the drug dealers time to unload their shipment and move out again. And what if it wasn’t actually the drugs? Maybe it really was something innocent, like a late delivery arriving into Gotham. Batman was already mad at him, if Robin got him up here for something unconnected and caused him to miss the real shipment, Batman would ground him for a month and triple his training!

He winced. Best option was to assess the situation first, then work from there.

Carefully swooping down into the street, he decided that if it was the drug dealers, he could get out of range of whatever jamming equipment they were using and contact Captain Gordon. After that, he could double back to the docks and let Batman know about Petrov’s change of plan.

Using the buildings lining the street, he felt his way towards where the lights had vanished. Robin knew that people could get lost in weather like this, even in their own front yard, because visibility was so bad. Fortunately, Batman had done enough sensory deprivation training with him to ensure that he knew how to move without his sight and still not get lost. 

He reached the street where the lights had turned off and peered carefully around the corner. Through the swirling snow, he could just make out several figures unloading the contents of a massive truck that was parked in the alley, and carrying them into a nearby warehouse. If it weren’t for the weather, nothing about the scene would have looked suspicious. But Robin needed to be sure. He had to get into that warehouse.

Circling the building, he found a low window and picked the lock. Slipping quietly into the warehouse, he paused to study his surroundings. The room was dark, the only light coming from somewhere near where the men were unloading the truck. But Robin couldn’t see what they were unloading since he was hidden behind several massive crates, obscuring his view. He slipped closer to the loading bay in order to get a better look.

Hiding behind a dilapidated fork-lift, Robin carefully assessed the scene in front of him. Four men were unloading the massive truck and carrying its contents into the warehouse. Five more were unpacking the boxes and pulling out what looked like square, white bricks. 

_Drugs!_

Robin forced himself to ignore the rush of excitement and remain where he was until he finished evaluating the situation. The more information he could give Batman, the happier he would be. Maybe even enough to let Robin off the hook for telling Wally his real name.

He watched as the men unpacked the boxes, and then repacked the drugs into more innocuous ones with food logos on them. Three more men were carrying the newly repacked boxes of drugs and loading them into the three vans that were parked within the warehouse’s loading bay. Another guy was standing in the middle of the bustle, surveying the proceedings and Robin stiffened when he recognized him. Oleg Petrov.

Okay, definitely time to get Batman. Robin turned to slip back to the unlocked window when the worst thing that could have happened occurred at just that moment.

He sneezed.

“Someone’s there!” a voice cried and Robin heard the sound of several gun safeties being clicked off. He fled as a hail of gunfire snickered towards him, dropping several smoke bombs to camouflage his trail.

He was less than ten feet from the window when a man appeared in front of him, a gun pointing right at him. Robin’s heart sank; he must have been on perimeter. He dived left just as the man fired at him. Rolling away, he reached for his grapple gun and shot a line towards the roof. The instant it landed a grip, he activated the recoil and whizzed upwards.

“It’s the Bat’s brat!” someone yelled.

More gunfire echoed around him and a bullet tore through his line, snapping it and sending him plummeting downwards. Twisting in midair, Robin immediately fired another line and felt himself snap as his freefall was halted. Pivoting as bullets flew past him, he swung towards where the single gunman was blocking the window, and smashed into him, knocking him to the ground and sending the gun spinning across the floor. 

He was almost to the window when a bullet slammed into his back, pelting him forwards onto the floor. The Kevlar of his uniform prevented any penetration, but the impact still hurt. Pain shuddered through him and he gasped, the sudden shock of being hit knocking the wind from him. Ignoring his body’s instinct to stop, Robin snapped quickly to his feet. The window was right in front of him, if he could just make it through– 

Pain exploded in his right arm as Robin felt something _tear_ through the flesh. Seizing it with his left hand, he could feel something warm seeping through the fabric. Panic shivered through him; he’d been shot!

Gasping and forcing himself to push past the pain, he jumped for the window. He grasped the frame with his left hand and had almost pulled himself through when someone seized his ankle, yanking him back. Instinctively, Robin whirled and kicked out, drawing a grunt from the person. He attempted to get through the window again until two sets of hands grabbed him and dragged him further into the warehouse. Robin lashed out at the nearest face with his good arm and heard the satisfying _crack_ of someone’s teeth breaking. 

And then several sets of hands were on him, clutching and pulling. He struggled furiously until someone seized hold of his upper arm, right where he’d been shot, and squeezed hard. Agony surged through him and Robin cried out. He moved to yank his arm out of the vice-like grip, but someone else snatched his left wrist and pulled it back behind him. A fist smashed into his face and something hard crashed onto his skull. Robin felt himself sag. Stomach churning and head reeling, he was dragged back towards the loading bay.

Someone was barking orders. “…off the truck and into those vans! Move!”

Robin’s utility belt was removed and a hand seized his chin, tilting it up. “Where is Batman?” a heavily accented voice demanded.

Head still spinning, Robin tried to focus on the face in front of him. Petrov. He frowned at the man. Did he honestly expect him to tell him where Batman was?

A savage backhand was leveraged into his face. “Answer me, boy!”

Robin tried to gather his thoughts. From what he knew of Petrov, the man would kill him once he’d outlived his usefulness. “I don’t know.”

Another blow snapped his head to the side and Robin tasted blood in his mouth. Petrov seized his throat. “Do not lie to me. You would not be here without him and I will not have the Bat ruining my plans. Where. Is he?”

“I don’t know,” said Robin again, and kicked up with his legs, catching Petrov in the stomach, before using him as leverage to push back against the men holding him.

They crashed to the ground and their grip on Robin loosened, enabling him to flip over their heads and out of their hold. He dodged the hands that came at him and ducked a viciously swinging fist. Cold fear washed over him. There were fourteen of them and one of him, how was he supposed to get out of this?

He got his answer when someone tackled him from behind and pinned him to the floor: he _wasn’t_ getting out of this.

Strong hands rolled him onto his back and Robin lashed out, using the lock picks in his gauntlets to scratch at the hands holding him down. The men hissed and drew back, but Robin couldn’t do more than sit up before more men grabbed him. He was shoved back onto the floor where his arms and legs were pinned down and his gauntlets were removed.

Petrov appeared above him, a knife in his hand. Robin started to struggle as the crime lord squatted beside him and seized his lower jaw, pressing his head back against the floor and holding it in place. The boy froze when Petrov held the knife to the corner of his eye.

“Tell me, little Robin,” Petrov’s voice was very quiet, “do you want me to cut your eyes out?”

Mouth dry and heart pounding, Robin gave the smallest of head shakes.

Petrov smiled. “I thought as much. Then tell me where Batman is.”

“I don’t know. We got separated in the storm.”

“Do not lie to me!”

Robin couldn’t help but notice that Petrov’s accent caused him to overenunciate his words. “I’m not lying. Honest.”

Petrov’s response was to drive the knife into his shoulder. 

Robin screamed and jerked violently as white hot pincers _seared_ through him. Petrov’s face was hovering above his and he could smell cigarettes on the man’s breath. “That was just a taste. You think I am joking about your eyes? I will cut them out and feed them to you if you do not tell me what I want to know!”

“But I can’t tell you what I don’t know,” Robin choked out between clenched teeth. He really didn’t know where Batman was; he only had a vague idea, and telling Petrov even that would result in his instant death. 

“I do not believe you.” Petrov’s eyes were cold as he pushed the knife in further. “Where is he?”

Robin bit back a moan. “I’m telling you, I don’t know.” 

Petrov tutted. “Lying again.” With a violent jerk, he twisted the knife, sending spasms of agony radiating outwards. “Well?”

“I DON’T KNOW! I DON’T KNOW!” Robin screamed, trying in vain to pull away from the awful pain.

Petrov scowled. “I do not know whether you are being very stupid or very brave, but it is no matter. You want this to stop? Tell me where Batman is.”

Fear and pain were making him hyperventilate, and Robin gasped out his words. “I…don’t…know!” 

Petrov twisted the knife again and Robin jerked convulsively, painful whimpers rattling out from between clenched teeth. _Make it stop, make it stop! Please, please, make it stop!_

“Where is he?” Petrov growled in a low voice.

Tears and sweat rolled down his face as Robin sobbed out his answer. “I. Don’t. _Know._ ”

The knife twisted and Robin screamed in torment. “Please, stop… PLEASE!” He didn’t care that he was begging. 

“He doesn’t know anything, boss,” said one of the men holding him down. “If he did, he’d talk. Look at him; he’s just a kid!”

“Besides,” another one added, “if they really did get separated, then the Bat must be around here somewhere, and if he keeps screaming, it’ll only bring him running.”

“No,” Petrov replied, studying Robin shrewdly. “If he was nearby then he would have already heard the screams. And I do not believe that he allowed them to get separated. I have some knowledge of the Batman and he does not make mistakes. Which means he left the boy here, or somewhere near here. The question is, is he coming back?”

Petrov looked expectantly at Robin and he shook his head, despair falling over him as it hit him; Batman really _wasn’t_ coming. He didn’t know Robin had left his post. He had no reason to believe his partner was in danger, no reason to come looking for him. 

“Do not lie, Robin,” Petrov warned, twisting the knife again, slowly and without stopping, causing Robin to writhe in agony. “Is he coming back for you?”

Robin shook his head frantically. “I saw lights and – ngggh – left my post. He doesn’t – hnnnh – know. I _swear!_ ” The knife remained twisting excruciatingly in his shoulder. Robin squeezed his eyes shut and whimpered. 

“Very well. Does he know of my operation?”

Robin nodded, feeling like he was betraying his mentor. But his head was spinning and he felt sick with terror and pain. This was beyond anything he’d ever faced before. He was used to facing the really dangerous criminals with Batman. And even with the lesser ones, he rarely went up against them alone. Robin wasn’t prepared for this. He couldn’t handle this. 

The knife stopped. “How much does he know, Robin?” 

“Drugs,” Robin managed, opening his eyes. “You sell drugs.”

“Can he prove it?”

Robin shook his head. _Batman_ …

“Details, Robin. If he cannot prove it then why are you here instead of him?” 

The knife began its slow twisting again and Robin thought he might throw up. “He needed to – ngggh – catch you in the act to…p–prove drugs. I was…lookout. Contact…contact him when…you arrived. Saw lights and…arggggggggggh! STOP!”

But the knife didn’t stop. “And what, Robin?”

Despite the hands pinning him down, Robin arched on the ground and gasped out a whine between clenched teeth. “Came to…investigate. B–Batman doesn’t – hngggh – know I’m here.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yessssssssss!”

“Good.”

The knife was yanked out and Robin’s world listed sideways. Blackness shredded into his vision and he felt himself melt against the floor. The voices of Petrov and his men drifted to the periphery of his consciousness, becoming insignificant. The only thing he was really aware of was the deep, wrenching pain consuming him. Fire licked its way out from his shoulder, burning him up from the inside.

And then someone was shouting. “…finish loading…faster…the van…” The words flashed in Robin’s ears, but made little sense. It was getting harder to focus on his surroundings. 

The sound of an engine starting up sharpened his mind somewhat and he peeled open his eyes, which confused him since he didn’t remember closing them. Two men were standing guard over him, but the ones restraining him were gone. Huh. When did they leave? He rolled his head to the side and blinked slowly, surveying the situation through the men’s legs. To his utter bewilderment, the drugs were all loaded into the vans. How did that happen so fast? 

The nerves in his butchered shoulder twanged and he stiffened, reaching for it in an effort to stem the pain. But the two men above him misconstrued his actions and yelled, hauling him to his feet.

“Little punk!” one of them snarled. “You trying to pull something?”

Exhausted, Robin shook his head. He didn’t have the strength to pull anything.

Petrov appeared in front of them. “We are leaving.”

“What do you want us to do with him?” asked the man to Robin’s left.

“Nothing.” Petrov put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and stared down at him with chillingly cold eyes before something plunged suddenly into Robin’s stomach. His vision turned blindingly white as fire exploded inside of him. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. He couldn’t breathe. Pain was _everywhere_ as tattered nerves screamed in agony. 

Somebody was talking, but he barely heard them over the rushing in his ears. His world was spinning into a kaleidoscope of colours; red, white, pink, yellow and black. Robin almost lost himself in the mosaic until something hard smashed into his face and jerked him back to the cold grey of reality.

He was face down on the concrete floor with the sound of his own heartbeat echoing in his ears. 

Petrov and his men were moving out, the lights from their vans flashing past as they left the warehouse. Robin, gasping and wheezing on the floor, couldn’t bring himself to care. His hands moved shakily to clutch at his stomach, and Robin felt something warm spilling through his fingers. Blood.

“Batman…” he moaned. Where was he? Robin _needed_ him! “Bruuuuuce…help me…”

He coughed, and was terrified to see red speckle the concrete. A choked, distressed sound escaped from the back of his throat. “Bruce…where…are you?”

Silence echoed around him.

 _He’s not coming,_ Robin remembered vaguely. He’d left his post; Batman had no clue where he was. If he wanted to make it out of here alive, he would have to get himself out.

Swallowing the metallic tang in his mouth, Robin lifted his head and looked around. The men were gone and had closed down the door of the loading dock behind them. He wouldn’t be able to get out that way, but maybe he could get to the window he had left open and signal for help somehow? 

Panting and whimpering, Robin managed to push himself onto his knees, making his stomach spasm torturously. He waited a few moments to catch his breath before using his right hand to lean against the nearest crate in an attempt to pull himself to his feet. He was screaming through gritted teeth by the time he managed to do it. Leaning heavily against the crate, Robin tried to calculate how far it was to the window. Darkness loomed before him and he squinted. The window was all the way to the back and he could barely see through his swimming vision. Could he do it? His legs felt like they might fold beneath him at any second.

Robin swallowed and tightened his mouth into a determined line. He’d die in here if he didn’t. Every muscle in his body straining and clenching, he took one step forward… 

And promptly crashed to the floor. 

He moaned through clenched teeth and curled in on himself. It hurt! It hurt! It hurt so _bad!_

Moving his hands over his stomach, Robin whimpered. The pain was horrendous; cold fire exploding in a boiling cacophony of agony. Blood dribbled through his fingers, but he refused to look down. Looking might frighten him into giving up, and Robin couldn’t do that. Batman had taught him to never give up. He made a feeble attempt to pull himself across the floor, but spasms of agony ripped through him. He could feel his energy ebbing quickly away as blood pooled underneath him and blackness tunnelled at the edges of his vision.

Robin tried not to cry when he realized there was no way he was making it to that window. He wasn’t getting out of here.

And no one was coming to save him.


	3. Chapter 3

Batman was growing impatient as he surveyed the docks. There was no sign of Petrov or the drugs, and he had been here for over an hour. His initial investigation suggested the shipment wasn’t supposed to be here until later, but he had been _certain_ that Petrov would have moved the time up to beat the weather. However, with no sign of the crime lord, he was beginning to wonder if he was wrong.

Batman scowled. No. He wasn’t wrong. Petrov wasn’t the sort of man who would allow a little extreme weather to put a dent in his plans. He wanted that shipment in Gotham tonight, which meant he would do _anything_ to have that shipment in Gotham tonight.

So where was he?

Batman cast his gaze around the docks again, eyes landing on the deserted building that Petrov owned. The man never kept his produce in one place for long, meaning Batman literally had to catch him in the act to prove he was the one infesting Gotham with drugs. It was the reason tonight’s operation was so crucial. Petrov was poisoning Gotham from the inside out; the sooner he was off the streets, the sooner the rot stopped.

His eyes were performing another perimeter sweep when he noticed a blue speck approaching through the blizzard. He stiffened. _That had better not be_ … He growled when Superman came into view, heading in his direction. _Dammit, Alfred!_ he swore, knowing exactly who had called the Boy Scout out here. 

“You should consider toning down your uniform,” he snarked at the Man of Steel when he landed beside him minutes later.

“Merry Christmas to you too,” Superman responded cheerfully. “And what’s wrong with my uniform?”

“It’s too bright. I could see you approaching from half a mile away, even in this weather. It ruins the element of surprise.”

“Did it ever occur to you that not all of us use the shadows to take criminals by surprise? I’m Superman; I _want_ the bad guys to see me coming.”

Batman made an irritated noise before asking, “Did Alfred call you?”

“He was concerned.”

“He shouldn’t be. Everything is under control here, so you can just go back to Metropolis.”

Superman sighed. “Why are you always in such a bad mood at this time of year?”

Batman gave him a withering glare.

“What? It’s true. And I’m here now so I may as well help.” He gave Batman a pointed look. “And you should have called me to help in the first place. Robin shouldn’t be out in this weather.”

“Robin can handle himself.”

“That’s not the issue. He’s eleven, it’s Christmas and this snowstorm is the biggest Gotham has seen in years. You should have left him at home.”

Batman ignored him. There was too much truth in that statement for him to disagree. “If you’re going to stay, then make yourself useful; turn up that superhearing of yours and see if you can hear anything approaching.”

Superman complied, shaking his head in resignation. Then he frowned. “I hear traffic several blocks from here.”

“In this weather?” Batman’s senses kicked in and he reached for his radio. “Robin, report.”

There was no response. 

“Robin,” he repeated. “Come in.”

This time he heard several loud clicks echo over the bandwidth. “Comm’s jammed. Take me to where you heard those vehicles.”

But Superman shook his head, a horrified expression on his face. “No. We have to get to Robin! We have to get to him right _now!_ ”

The Dark Knight frowned at him. “Robin? Why–”

“He’s calling for you, he’s calling for you by your real name!”

Something cold shuddered through Batman. “He’s situated on the tallest building eight blocks west of here.”

At once, Superman grabbed him and took off. High above the ground, the snow stung at Batman, but he barely felt it. His mind was whirling. Robin knew better than to use his real name while in costume, what had happened to change that?

They landed on the roof of the building he had instructed Robin to watch from, but there was no sign of the boy.

“He’s not here,” Batman muttered, circling the roof. “Where is he? Superman?”

The Man of Steel shook his head in concern. “I don’t know. I don’t hear him now. Can’t you track him?”

Batman checked Robin’s GPS and shook his head. “Whatever’s jamming communications is interfering with the signal. Superman, you heard him before – try listening again!”

He watched with a growing sense of dread as his fellow leaguer used his superhearing. Something was terribly wrong. Robin wasn’t where he was supposed to be and he had called for him using his real name. Batman could feel panic rise in his gut and smacked it down. Panic would get them nowhere.

It was several long, agonizing minutes before Superman jerked and looked left. “This way,” he said hoarsely, grabbing Batman and taking off again. Five blocks later and he was depositing the Dark Knight on the snow outside an old warehouse. Batman watched as he punched through the enormous steel-rolled door before following him inside.

“Over here,” said Superman urgently, hurrying towards several stacked crates.

Batman was close on his heels, his breath catching in his throat at the nightmarish scene before him. Robin was curled in a ball on the floor, blood pooling around him. His face was chalk white and smeared with red, while several small, bloody handprints were visible on the crate beside him and the ground around him. A pungent stench of blood hung in the air, almost making Batman retch. Dear god, how much blood had he lost?

“Batman! _Batman!_ ” Superman’s voice cut in over his shocked processing. 

He snapped out of it and dropped beside the Man of Steel, who was crouched over Robin, trying to assess his injuries. Together, they carefully rolled the boy onto his back and Batman gave a sharp intake of breath; Robin was bleeding profusely from his stomach and shoulder. He yanked several padded bandages from his belt and shoved some at Superman, who immediately pressed them against Robin’s stomach. It did little to staunch the bleeding as red seeped through the dressings.

Batman swallowed and applied the other bandages to Robin’s shoulder with one hand, while sweeping back his bangs with the other. “Robin... Robin, can you hear me?”

The boy remained limp and unresponsive. Despite his best efforts, Batman could feel panic creeping in at the edges of his carefully constructed calm. How had this _happened?_ He’d ordered Robin to stay put!

“Batman, he needs the hospital.” 

Superman’s voice was urgent, but Batman shook his head. “No. Leslie’s. She’s closer and he’ll be safer there.” He looked at the Man of Steel. “Can you take him? You can get him there quicker than I can in this weather.” 

“Are you sure–”

“Don’t waste time arguing with me!” Batman snapped, removing his cape. He gently eased Robin to a sitting position and wrapped him in the cape. Then he placed the boy carefully in Superman’s arms, his heart hurting at how light the little frame felt. He looked at Superman. “Get him there safely, Clark.”

It was only after the Man of Steel had disappeared with his precious package that Batman realized he had called him by his real name.

oOo

Batman reached Gotham’s free clinic almost twelve minutes later. Tearing up the steps of the clinic, he tried to ignore every worst-case scenario that was flashing through his head. A lone volunteer was on duty and she jumped as he burst through the door.

“Where’s Robin?” he gasped out.

Her mouth open, she pointed towards the back room and he ran in that direction. His heart was thumping so hard he thought he might have a coronary as he jerked open the door.

Inside, Robin – Dick – was limp on a gurney while Leslie worked feverishly to stabilize him. With the exception of his tights, he had been stripped of his uniform and Batman growled when he got a clear view of his torso. There was a lethal-looking stab wound to his stomach and a bullet hole in his upper right arm, and some _animal_ had gouged a large, deep hole into his left shoulder, a wound clearly intended to inflict maximum pain. A dark, penetrating rage enveloped Batman and he clenched his fists. Someone was going to pay dearly for this.

His plans for revenge vanished the moment the shrill whine of a cardiac monitor tore through the air. 

Batman felt his own heart stop and moved towards the gurney until a strong arm was flung across his chest, keeping him in place.

“Let her work,” Superman’s voice sounded in his ear.

Batman didn’t respond. He couldn’t take his eyes from the scene in front of him: Leslie had the defibrillator out and was shocking Dick’s little body, trying to restart his heart. He watched in anguish as the boy arched on the bed with each charge of the paddles.

It felt like forever before beeping sounded again, and Batman released a ragged breath. Jesus Christ. Jesus _Christ._

“Bruce,” Leslie addressed him urgently, giving Dick a shot of something. “When I get him stabilized, he _needs_ a hospital! I don’t have enough supplies of his blood type here, and those wounds are beyond my surgical abilities.”

Batman shook his head, fighting to maintain his grip on reality. The scene before him was making him feel like he was dropping off the deep end. “Leslie, no. They’ll know who he is – if his real name gets out, nothing I do will keep him safe. He’ll be dead in less than a month!”

“He won’t be alive for you to protect if you don’t get him to a hospital!” she snapped back, bringing her eyes up briefly to meet his. 

Batman watched, torn, as Leslie secured the cannula for the blood she had been hooking up when Dick crashed. He would do anything to save the boy’s life, but he also knew that every hospital in Gotham would recognize him at once: Dick Grayson was almost as well-known as his guardian. And hospital confidentiality or not, it _would_ get out that Dick was Robin, and then he’d lose the boy – to Gotham CPS and the criminals who would hunt him down.

But Leslie was also right. He would lose Dick now if he didn’t get proper medical care. Not seeing a third option, Batman scrubbed wearily at his eyes.

Much to his surprise, it was Superman who spoke up with a solution. “Leslie, Flash is on his way here with Dr. Mid-Nite as we speak, they should be here soon. I contacted them both after we arrived in case you needed help. And I can bring the blood you need from the Hall of Justice med bay in less than five minutes.”

“Superman, those aren’t the only issues,” Leslie countered, putting an oxygen mask on Dick. “This is a ghetto clinic, not an OR! I need certain supplies; anaesthesia, strong pain medication, surgical tools… And what about this storm? If the power goes out then we’ll literally be operating blind!”

“That’s not exactly a problem for Dr. Mid-Nite. But I can bring a small generator in case of a power outage – it wouldn’t take Flash long to set it up. And I can get anything else you need from the Hall of Justice.”

Leslie exhaled in what sounded like frustration. “Fine! Grab a pen and paper from that cabinet. I’ll give you a list of what I need.”

Superman quickly complied, and Leslie gave him a rundown of what she needed, all while continuing to work on the unconscious child.

Batman only heard half of their conversation. His senses were still struggling with what was happening in front of him and his attention was focused on Dick. But somewhere in his head, his brain was mentally re-evaluating what he knew about Superman. While he had been standing here panicking, the Kryptonian had conceived a well thought-out alternative to his dilemma. Maybe there was more to the Man of Steel than raw power?

Leslie finished briefing Superman and he turned to face Batman, promptly rolling his eyes at the other man’s expression. “Just because I have super-strength doesn’t mean I can’t use my brains.”

Batman scowled. How had he known what he was thinking? “Then what are you waiting for? This isn’t the time for patting yourself on the back!” An image of Alfred’s scandalized face flashed through his head and he sighed. “Superman…thank you.”

The Man of Steel flashed him a smile as he left the room, although the corners of it were tight. Batman stared after him until Leslie gave a small gasp. “Bruce. Bruce, I think he’s waking up!”

His head snapped around. _Oh no. No, no, no!_ Dick couldn’t wake up now. Not to _this._

He moved to the other side of the gurney where, sure enough, Dick’s eyes were moving back and forth behind the lids. A distressed sound echoed from the back of his throat, followed by a plaintive, low moan. “Bruuuuuce….”

Dammit. Batman slipped back his cowl and placed one hand on Dick’s head, running his fingers soothingly through the dark hair. “Hey, buddy, it’s okay. I’m here.”

The movement behind the lids became more frantic until eventually, Dick’s eyes opened. He stared at Bruce for a second before his face crumpled and he cried out in pain. 

The sound made Bruce’s heart ache. “Shhhhhhh! It’s okay, Dick, you’re going to be alright. Leslie is going to fix you right up.”

Dick moved shaking hands towards his stomach, but Bruce caught them, gently guiding them back to the bed. “No, Dick, just lie still and let Leslie fix you, okay?”

“Hurts…” Dick whispered, his eyes watery and face pinched with pain. “Make it…stop.”

 _Oh Jesus._ “I know, kiddo, I know. Just relax and Leslie will fix it.” 

Dick rolled his head sideways to look at Leslie and then whimpered through gritted teeth. Bruce could see the boy’s fingers jerking convulsively and swallowed. Never had he felt so useless. “Can’t you give him something?” he hissed at Leslie.

“I’ve already given him something.” She shot him a warning look and jerked her head towards the monitors, her expression clearly telling him not to push this.

He glanced at them and his own heart almost stopped beating. Dick’s blood pressure was dangerously low. Bruce knew children could maintain blood pressure despite blood loss for longer than adults, but would deteriorate rapidly once it dropped because by then they were already critical. And most sedatives caused hypoventilation which, when mixed with low blood pressure, could result in heart failure and hypoxia. Dick had already crashed once… Bruce doubted he was strong enough to survive a second cardiac arrest. 

He swallowed again as he realized the position he had put Leslie in. Without Dr. Mid-Nite’s surgical skills and proper medical supplies, she was powerless to help Dick. Until the others arrived, all she could do was try to keep him stable – a terrifying burden to place on another person. Bruce’s secrets had forced Leslie to accept responsibility for a child’s life when she didn’t have the means to save him. Bruce was horrified by his own selfishness. How many more people had he burdened by forcing them to keep his secret? Alfred, Lucius, Superman...

Dick.

Guilt flooded him. He had been so harsh on the boy for telling his best friend his real name, something he should have known Dick wouldn’t do lightly. Even at eleven, Dick had more than proven his trustworthiness to Bruce, so why couldn’t Bruce trust him to make the right decision? Why was he forcing a _child_ to live with the burden of so many secrets just because he himself was incapable of trusting anyone?

He became aware of the boy whispering to him through the mask and immediately refocused on him. “What is it, Dick?”

Lower lip trembling slightly, Dick stared up at him with wide, frightened eyes. “I’m sorry I…messed…up.” 

Bruce’s heart broke. “Oh, Dickie, _no_. You didn’t mess up, this wasn’t your fault.”

“But…Petrov got…away.”

“Petrov?” Bruce tried not to let the anger show on his face. “Dick, was he the one who did this to you?”

Dick nodded, then suddenly wailed and arched on the gurney. Bruce could hear the monitors screaming all sorts of warnings.

“Dick! Dick, what is it?” 

The boy’s teeth clenched and he whimpered, whole body jerking. Without warning, he turned his head to the side and vomited red fluid into the oxygen mask.

Panic hit Bruce hard. “Oh, Jesus Christ! _Leslie! LESLIE!_ ” 

She was there before Bruce had even finished calling, shoving him out of the way and pulling the mask off of Dick. Red splattered the floor as the boy retched, and Bruce felt his own stomach churn.

“Dick, stay with me!” Leslie called anxiously, as Dick’s eyes rolled back in his head. “Where’s the pain, Dick? Talk to me, sweetheart, tell me where it hurts.”

Bruce didn’t know what happened after that, because the next thing he knew, Flash and Dr. Mid-Nite were bursting into the room. Dr. Mid-Nite didn’t even acknowledge Bruce as he shoved him out of the way and joined Leslie by the gurney where she immediately began to fill him in on Dick’s condition.

The surreal sensation of his head expanding rolled over Bruce. His heart was pounding in his chest and he felt dizzy. He could barely hear what Leslie was saying to Dr. Mid-Nite over the frantic beeping of the machines and the rushing in his ears, but a few words permeated his consciousness. “hypovolemic…extreme tachycardia…delayed capillary refill…”

Why wasn’t any of this making sense to him? Why wasn’t any of it going in?

“Bruce!” 

The Flash’s concerned face was shoved practically into his own, and Bruce got the impression that he had tried several times to get his attention. He blinked, transplanting his focus to Flash. “ _What?_ ”

He hadn’t meant to bark at Flash.

But the man in question didn’t seem to mind. “You okay? You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine.”

“O-kay.” Flash put a hand to the back of his neck and shuffled, obviously not knowing what to say.

Bruce didn’t really care. Small talk was the least of his worries at the moment. His attention went back to the gurney just as Leslie produced a coil of Ryle’s tubing and viscous lidocaine, while Dr. Mid-Nite elevated the gurney to a forty-five degree angle. Bruce felt his knees go weak. Nasogastric tubing. “Why are you doing that?” he demanded, striding forward. “Is that really–”

“Bruce!” Leslie hissed, physically stopping him in his tracks. “Not now. He obviously ate before patrol and there’s haemorrhaging somewhere in his stomach. We have to empty his stomach contents before we operate so _please_ don’t make this any harder!”

Her face was twisted in distress and Bruce realized that this was tearing her up: Leslie doted on Dick. He nodded and took a step back just as Superman returned, carrying a large box of medical supplies. To Bruce’s surprise, Wonder Woman was right behind him carrying another box.

“How is he?” she asked anxiously, as she and Superman placed the boxes carefully on the counter.

It was Dr. Mid-Nite who responded as he looked up in irritation. “Robin is in good hands, so I need anyone who is not a trained medical professional to leave this room _now._ ”

Bruce opened his mouth to argue, but Dr. Mid-Nite silenced him with a glare worthy of one of his own. “That includes you too, Batman. No arguments if you have the boy’s best interests at heart.”

For once, this was an argument Bruce couldn’t win. He pulled his cowl back up and fixed Dr. Mid-Nite with a hard stare. “Just pull him through this.”

The man nodded and returned his attention to Dick. Batman gave one last glance at the half-conscious boy on the gurney and stormed out the door.


	4. Chapter 4

Batman ignored his fellow Leaguers as he swept past them, heading for the door. _You’re mine, Petrov._

“Batman, where are you going?” Wonder Woman called after him, but he ignored her. 

He was almost at the door when a strong hand clamped down hard on his shoulder and spun him around. Superman stood there, frowning at him. “Batman, I hope you’re not thinking of doing something stupid.”

“You don’t know what I’m thinking!” Batman snapped, furious. When had the Boy Scout become so good at reading him?

“Maybe not. But I know how I’m feeling about whoever did this to Robin, so I can only imagine how you’re feeling. And I’m telling you, don’t do anything stupid.”

Batman shook off his hand. “We don’t know what happened to Robin.” That wasn’t strictly true since Dick had told him that Petrov was responsible, but Superman didn’t need to know that. “And I’m not going to just sit here waiting and twiddling my thumbs. I’m going to find out what happened tonight.”

“Then let me help.”

“NO!” Batman barked, before turning and disappearing into the night.

oOo

Petrov’s headquarters was located over a nightclub in one of Gotham’s seedier districts. Batman had suspected for some time that the club was a front for his money-laundering operation. He had hoped that smashing the crime lord’s drug ring would cause his other operations to crumble, but after tonight’s debacle it looked like that wasn’t going to happen.

He watched the bouncers admit two well-known drug dealers into the club, the sour taste of anger ripe in his mouth. Every conceivable late night business in Gotham had closed its doors in the face of this storm, but for scum like Petrov, even weather like this was an opportunity: he could meet with his lackeys to arrange the peddling of his poison without fear of police interference – Gotham PD were too busy defending the city and its citizens from the storm to worry about crime tonight. 

Batman clenched a fist. He could no longer allow such a malignant influence to continue. This evening may have been a failure, but he would use any means necessary to assure that Petrov’s reign ended. Tonight.

Slipping around the back, Batman used his grapple gun to propel himself onto the roof. The weather ensured there was no security up there, so it didn’t take him long to pick the lock on the rooftop door and get inside. He descended two flights of stairs before meeting any security, and it took him less than thirty seconds to incapacitate them and hide their unconscious forms in the nearest closet. Every security guard he encountered thereafter was dispatched with in the same manner, taking him less than three minutes to reach Petrov’s office: the storm was making the guards lazy. They didn’t believe there would be any threat tonight.

Once Batman had taken care of the guards outside Petrov’s office, he listened carefully to what was happening inside. After several minutes, he’d determined that there were four people in the room. One of them had to be Petrov, two were most probably the drug dealers he’d seen entering the club, while the fourth was likely to be a bodyguard. Batman had to assume all four were armed.

Pushing open the door, he took a split second to assess the situation while the men froze in momentary shock. Petrov was sitting behind the desk while his bodyguard was lounging against the wall behind him with his arms crossed. The two drug dealers, seated in front of the desk, were the first to react, on their feet in seconds with their guns drawn. Batman used a batarang to disarm them both, and then charged forward, knocking the first one out with a hard blow to the jaw and smashing the second one head first into the desk. 

By now the bodyguard was moving forward, his gun aiming for Batman. The Dark Knight ducked behind a chair just as the weapon discharged, sending splinters of wood scattering over him. Releasing a smoke bomb, Batman used the coverage to deal with the bodyguard, leaping over the desk and taking him down with one swift strike.

Which just left Petrov. Batman heard the sound of a gun safety clicking off somewhere behind him and spun quickly. He jerked sideways just as the gun went off and felt something graze the side of his neck, but he was too high on adrenaline to feel pain. He reached through the smoke and grappled with the crime lord until he gained the upper hand with a savage knee jerk to Petrov’s stomach. While the man was bent over wheezing, Batman emptied the bullets from his gun onto the floor.

Sounds thundered up the stairs outside the office – the gunshots had obviously alerted the guards in the club below. But Batman wasn’t finished with Petrov. Rage and adrenaline were pumping through him, enabling him to pick up the leather chair that Petrov had been sitting in and hurl it through the window. As the glass shattered, he seized the crime lord by the front of his shirt and snarled, “I hope you’re afraid of heights!” Before Petrov could respond, Batman had fired his grapple gun out the window and the two men were hurtling into the storm.

Swinging high above the streets, Batman could hear Petrov screaming over the blizzard while his hands scrabbled at Batman’s own. Good. He _deserved_ to fear. For a brief second, thoughts of dropping Petrov flashed through his mind. But the Dark Knight didn’t want to let Petrov off that easily. He wanted him to suffer like he had made Robin suffer. 

Thoughts of Robin’s butchered little frame and pain-filled whimpers filled Batman’s head and with a wild roar, he flung Petrov down onto the nearest roof. The man hit the brickwork hard before tumbling over and over in the snow, white powder clinging to his clothes. Batman landed beside him just as Petrov rolled onto his hands and knees, and delivered a brutal kick to the man’s stomach that dropped him, gasping and wheezing, back onto the snow.

“You’re going to pay for what you did to Robin,” Batman promised in a low voice, fists clenched as he stood over Petrov.

The man gave a low, guttural chuckle, punctuated by gasps. “So you…found him. Tell me, Batman…is the little bird alive?”

Batman stomped down hard on Petrov’s back, flattening him against the snow. “You think it’s _funny_ to torture children?!”

Petrov tilted his head up at Batman and smiled wickedly. “Only yours.”

Batman growled and smashed a fist into Petrov’s face before hauling him to his feet. The father in him was baying for blood and he wanted nothing more than to make this monster writhe in the direst agony for ever laying a hand on his child.

It stunned him to realize that he thought of Dick as his child, and he wondered when he’d started to feel like that.

“Temper, temper, Batman,” Petrov taunted. “Are you always such a poor example to Robin?”

“Shut up!” Batman snapped, punching him hard. 

But his rage was making him sloppy. He didn’t see the knife in Petrov’s hand until it was coming at him, giving him only a split second to dodge. It wasn’t enough. The blade slid into his side, too far out to hit any major organs or cause any real damage, but still enough to hurt. Batman clenched his teeth and shoved Petrov away from him as the man pulled the knife out and prepared to stab again. The crime lord landed in the snow, red fluid from the blade seeping into the white. 

“You are silent when injured, Batman,” Petrov commented, the horrible smile still on his face. “Not like Robin. He screamed so loud when the knife went in – it was heartbreaking really.”

It took everything Batman had not to rush at him. He knew the man was baiting him, trying to make him careless, but he wasn’t going to make that mistake again – Petrov was going to _pay_ for what he’d done to Robin.

Batman attempted to disarm Petrov using a batarang, but the crime lord dodged expertly. The two men circled each other for several minutes until eventually, Petrov charged. Batman sidestepped the knife, but Petrov managed to get a brutal hit into his injured side that made him stumble.

Regaining his footing quickly, Batman eyed the man warily. Petrov was better at hand-to-hand combat than he had originally anticipated. But it didn’t matter; Batman had resolved to take him down tonight. “You’ve committed your last crime, Petrov.”

“You think you can stop me?” Petrov smiled in amusement. “I own half this city.”

“Not for much longer,” Batman growled. “I guarantee it.”

“Gotham doesn’t belong to you, Batman,” Petrov sneered. “It belongs to me and others like me.”

“Gotham belongs to its citizens! You and your kind aren’t wanted.”

“Oh, really? Then why am I so successful? If Gotham truly does not want the services I provide, then why do I make more in one night than a doctor makes in a week? Admit it, Batman, this city thrives on its own filth, this city doesn’t _want_ to be saved.”

Batman narrowed his eyes at him, but didn’t respond. Part of him sometimes wondered that same thing.

Petrov laughed as though he guessed that was exactly what Batman was thinking. “You see the true face of this city every night and still you pointlessly try to save it. You know, Einstein claimed that the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over, and expecting different results. Perhaps you are insane. Maybe that is why you dress a child up in costume and send him out into the night for men like me to tear to pieces.” He paused and lowered his voice. “Or maybe you just do not care about him.”

“ _Shut up!_ ” Batman snarled, trembling with rage.

Petrov gave a cold smile. “Strike a nerve, did I? But you cannot blame me for thinking that. After all, where were you when Robin was crying and _begging_ me to stop?”

Batman was throwing himself at Petrov before he’d even thought about what he was doing. 

Wrestling and slipping in the snow, the two men grappled viciously; Petrov trying to drive the knife into Batman’s face, while Batman pushed it back towards the crime lord. But slowly, Batman began to gain the upper hand, and it may have been that which prompted Petrov to throw another taunt at him. “Oho, you want my knife, Batman? Well, in the interests of full disclosure, you should know that this is what I used on Robin.” An evil smile stretched across his face. “It slid into him like he was butter.”

With a roar of pure fury, Batman headbutted Petrov in the face, a loud crack echoing around the rooftop. 

“Ungh!” Petrov grunted, as his head snapped back and blood spurted from his nose.

While Petrov was dazed, Batman leveraged a savage kick to his knee that dropped him to the ground, before violently snapping his wrist. The knife slipped from Petrov’s fingers and Batman delivered a brutal blow to his face that sent him reeling backwards.

“You have…no proof of my guilt,” Petrov wheezed. “Beating me…will only destroy your reputation.” He smiled a blood-stained smile. “And it will not fix…your little Robin.”

Petrov may have been right, but Batman was past logic or reason. His head was too full of Robin’s whimpers and the tormenting image of him vomiting blood onto the floor of Leslie’s clinic. And this man had the gall to goad him about it? To _laugh?!_ Clenching his teeth, he hit Petrov harder. 

The crime lord was sagging in his grasp when strong hands seized Batman’s fist and yanked him away from Petrov. The crime lord crumpled to the snow, gasping and wheezing.

“Batman!” a voice hissed. “What the hell are you doing?!” 

He turned to find Superman beside him. “Teaching him a lesson.”

Superman looked both angry and concerned. “You of all people know we don’t do this. We’re not judge, jury and executioner!”

Batman glanced at Petrov. “I don’t see the problem. He’s alive, isn’t he?”

“That’s not the point!” 

“That’s exactly the point.” 

Batman turned to leave, but Superman called out. “Batman, wait! I…I came looking for you for a reason.”

The hesitancy in his tone made Batman’s stomach plummet. He turned back quickly. “Is Robin alright?”

Superman fixed him with a look of deepest pity. “Dr. Mid-Nite sent me – Robin crashed again. I think you should get back to the clinic.”

Batman’s world crumbled around him. This wasn’t happening. 

“Batman–” Superman’s attempt at consolation was interrupted by broken, gasping laughter. 

They both turned to where Petrov had managed to prop himself upright on one arm, his expression triumphant as he smiled at Batman. “Just proves…my point. How can you save Gotham when you…cannot save one little boy?”

The Dark Knight growled and moved towards him, but Superman stepped between them. “No, Batman, not like this.”

The Dark Knight clenched a fist. “Not like this? He _deserves_ to be punished for what he’s done!”

“And he will be. But that punishment is not up to you.”

Superman had a point. But Batman also knew there wasn’t a judge in the world who would deliver punishment enough for the torture that Petrov had inflicted on Robin.

Wordlessly, he activated his grapple gun and swung away, leaving Superman alone with Petrov.

oOo

Batman was almost at Gotham’s free clinic when the sound of someone screaming for help permeated his misery. Abruptly, he turned and swung towards the cries of distress. Less than a block away, he discovered what was obviously an attempted burglary gone wrong. Two men were racing down the front steps of someone’s home while a third man lay at the top of the steps in the arms of a woman, blood pooling the snow around him. The woman was screaming and sobbing, while two little boys in their pyjamas stared in terrified shock from the doorway.

Batman processed the scene and quickly took down the fleeing men. Once they were incapacitated, he called the police and then knelt to see what medical assistance he could provide for the injured man.

He needn’t have bothered. The man was already dead.

“Oh, John…” the woman moaned, sobbing as she rocked him in her arms. “Honey, please…”

“I’m sorry,” said Batman, his own sense of approaching loss making him feel hers keenly.

Brown eyes came up to meet his. “Sorry?” she repeated bitterly, cradling the dead man as she stared at Batman. “Where were you? I thought you protected Gotham!”

The accusation was like a knife to Batman’s soul. Another family ripped apart and he’d been powerless to stop it. Somewhere in the blizzard, he heard the wail of an approaching siren and got heavily to his feet. “The police are on their way,” he told her, a bitter bile that tasted like grief rising in his throat. “I am truly sorry for your loss.”

The utter uselessness of his words was reflected in her eyes as she shook her head, and then buried it on the man’s chest, wretched sobs shaking her body.

Batman’s last image before leaving the broken family was of two devastated little figures standing in a doorway.

oOo

He was on Gotham Bridge before he realized it, gripping the steel girders and staring down into the freezing waters below. Happening upon one family’s shattering loss had made Batman unable to face his own. Running had seemed like the easiest option; if the loss wasn’t confirmed, then it hadn’t happened. He was perfectly aware of the pathetically childish logic of his reasoning, but he just couldn’t bring himself to face the terrifying reality of losing Dick. His world had ended once already – he wasn’t prepared for it to happen again.

Anguish shrouded itself around him and Batman buried his head in his hands. What the hell had he been thinking?! He had left Robin, an eleven-year-old child, by himself in the middle of a blizzard, to watch for dangerous criminals bringing drugs into the city! Petrov was right, he was insane.

Petrov.

Batman levelled a hard bunch at the steel girders and gritted his teeth as he howled to the winds in anger and despair. With no evidence of his criminal dealings, Petrov would walk away with little more than a slap on the wrist, while an innocent child was left to suffer! It just wasn’t _fair_. 

The injustice of life weighed heavily on Batman, his own worthlessness nearly strangling him. What was the point of it all? What good was he? After almost ten years as Batman he had accomplished nothing; Gotham was still as mired in its own filth as ever.

And now Batman was about to lose his everything and it had all been for nothing.


	5. Chapter 5

Batman was still staring into the swirling waters when a shadow moved on the periphery of his vision. He turned his head just as someone threw themselves off the bridge. 

“Heeeeeeeelp!” a male voice screamed, as the body plummeted towards the river.

Batman didn’t hesitate. He dived in after the figure without taking the time to think of the water’s freezing temperatures or the wound to his side. He hit the water where the cold stabbed at him like a thousand tiny knives. The current pulled and dragged him under until he couldn’t tell up from down, and he was thankful that he didn’t have his cape on to drag him further down – the weight from his armour was bad enough. Finally managing to orient himself, he kicked hard with both legs and propelled himself upwards. Breaking the surface of the water, the first thing he heard was frantic cries for help.

He jerked his head sideways to spot an arm waving several feet away. His eyes narrowed. How had the man managed to pull himself to the surface in these conditions? Batman knew his superior swimming and diving abilities were all that had kept him from being swept away.

He swam in the direction of the man bobbing and splashing in the water. Reaching him, he grabbed a fistful of the man’s clothing and tugged him towards him. The man immediately stopped splashing and allowed Batman to hook one arm around him and tow him towards the riverbank.

It was a long swim. The current swirled around them, dragging them downriver while the cold leached into Batman’s bones, making his strokes slow and arduous. If the man he’d rescued weren’t so compliant and still, Batman doubted they’d have even made it back to shore. He was exhausted by the time he heaved them both up onto dry land and he collapsed, muscles trembling from the cold.

“Thank you so much for the rescue!” he heard a cheerful voice exclaim, and looked up to find the man whose life he had just saved, sitting up and smiling at him like this had all been some wonderful adventure.

Batman didn’t have the strength to respond. Conscious of the subzero temperatures and their current damp state, he staggered to his feet and dragged the man towards one of the old fishing shacks that were still standing along the banks of the river. Kicking open the door, he hurtled the man into the room and then slammed the door behind him. 

“G-get those w-w-wet c-clothes off!” he ordered, while gathering up the bits of wood and debris littering the floor with shaking hands. Stuffing a barrel the homeless kept in there for lighting fires, Batman pulled a lighter from his utility belt and prayed it would work after his dip in the river.

He was surprised when not only did his lighter ignite, but the wood also kindled quickly. Within minutes, flames were dancing merrily in the barrel, casting shadows around the little shack. He stared at the flames for a moment. In all his years of survivalist training, he had never seen a fire start that fast, especially not in such damp conditions.

Warmth washed over him and he tugged off his Kevlar vest, the motion tugged at the wound in his side, making it start bleeding again. Wringing out his vest, he draped it across the back of an old broken chair, before removing his boots and propping them by the barrel. He turned to check on the man he had rescued, only to find that he still hadn’t removed his clothes: he was standing by the fire toasting his hands instead.

“I thought I told you to remove those clothes!” 

The man looked at him. “You did. But it’s just a tad dirty in here, don’t you think? And this is my favourite suit.”

Batman stared at him in disbelief. The suit was a velvet, purple monstrosity complete with a white, frilled shirt. “You need to get out of those clothes before you develop hypothermia.”

The man waved a hand as he turned back to the fire. “Hypothermia, pffft! I’ll be fine.”

“Hypothermia can kill you.”

“It’s hard to kill someone who’s already dead.”

After witnessing one life wasted tonight, Batman could feel his patience waning at this man’s cavalier disregard for his own. “You’re not dead! And killing yourself won’t solve anything.”

“I know.” The man’s voice was sad. “It’s terrible how many people kill themselves and then regret it afterwards.”

“You just tried to kill yourself.”

“I most certainly did not!” 

“You jumped into the river.”

“I jumped into the river to get your attention. I wasn’t trying to kill myself.”

“You jumped into the river to get my _attention?_ ”

“Yes.” The man shrugged. “You were in such a mood when I arrived that I didn’t think you’d talk to me. But I knew you’d act immediately to save me if I were in danger, making it easier to talk to you afterwards.”

Batman was instantly suspicious. “Why would you want to talk to me?”

“Because I’m here to help you, Bruce.”

Batman froze. “What did you just call me?”

“Bruce. You don’t mind if I use your real name, do you? I just can’t get to grips with calling you Batman. I’m Albert, by the way. But most of my friends call me Al.”

“How do you know my name?” Batman snarled, grabbing the front of his shirt.

Albert rolled his eyes. “I know everything about you, Bruce. I’ve been watching over you your entire life.”

“Who are you? How do you know me?!”

“I already told you, I’m Albert.” He smiled at Batman. “I’m your guardian angel.”

This man was clearly insane. If jumping off Gotham Bridge hadn’t proven that, then this most certainly did. “I’m going to ask you again, and I want a real answer this time. How do you know who I am?”

“I _told_ you, I’m your guardian angel.”

Batman shook him hard. “I said a real answer!”

Albert looked irritated. “Now then, we’ll have less of that.” Before Batman could blink, the man was gone and he was grasping at empty air.

“I thought you had that temper of yours under control?” Albert’s voice complained from behind him.

Batman whirled to find Albert standing behind him. “How did you do that?”

“It’s part of my mojo.” Albert wiggled his fingers. “I generally don’t like using it in front of humans, but you’re such a cynic that I guessed I’d have to use it at some point.”

Batman pursed his lips. A magic user. He would have to tread carefully. “You said you were here to help me.”

“That’s right. I’m here to make sure you come out on the right side of this crisis of faith you’re having.”

“I don’t have any faith to be in crisis over.”

“Oh, I’m not talking about the spiritual kind. I’m talking about faith in yourself and your abilities. Faith in Batman.”

Batman fixed him with a hard stare. Was this idiot for real?

“I’m serious,” Albert told him. “I know you think Batman isn’t making a difference and that Gotham isn’t getting any better, but that’s not true. If it weren’t for you–”

“If it weren’t for me, a child wouldn’t have been tortured and stabbed tonight!” Batman snapped before he could stop himself. This man’s delusions were setting his teeth on edge.

“What happened to Robin was Oleg Petrov’s fault, not yours.” 

Batman clenched his hands into fists at the man’s insight. “How did you know who I was talking about? My name, what Petrov did to Robin – how do you _know_ all this?”

Albert sighed. “How many times do I have to tell you, I’m your guardian angel.”

Batman wanted to hit him. Hard. He didn’t have time for this crap! He needed to get back to Dick. But he couldn’t leave without finding out who this man was, and what his intentions were. His real intentions, not this fairy story he was spewing. “I don’t believe in angels.” 

“Not believing in them doesn’t make them any less real.”

“If there were such a thing as angels, then Robin wouldn’t have been injured tonight!” 

“If there’s no such thing as angels, then who do you think sent Superman?”

His fists balled tighter. “Somebody called him.”

“Alfred called him. But who had to prompt him to do that? After all, he doesn’t normally disobey you like that. And if Superman hadn’t shown up tonight, you wouldn’t have known that Robin was in trouble until it was too late.”

Batman didn’t respond. He was tired of arguing with a lunatic. 

“Anyway,” Albert continued, “I’m not here to convince you of who I am. I’m here to convince you of how important you are, how much Batman matters to Gotham and the people around you.”

Batman snorted derisively. 

“It’s true! Bruce, you just don’t know what it is you’re responsible for–”

“What I’m responsible for is causing hurt to the people I care about! And for what? A city that doesn’t even want to be saved! The people I care about would be better off if I–” He broke off, furious with himself. Why was he pandering to this lunatic by engaging in this conversation? He didn’t even talk like this to people he trusted!

Albert raised an eyebrow. “Do you think they’d be happier if you weren’t here? If you just left?”

Batman remained silent. He knew that to disappear now would only hurt the people he cared about. But that still didn’t change the fact that the people around him would suffer less if he weren’t around. Dick was the perfect example. Tonight aside, he just didn’t give the boy the attention and affection he deserved. It hurt him to admit it, but it would have been better for Dick if they’d never met, if Dick had just gone to some nice, normal family after his parents died. In fact, Alfred, Leslie, Clark – all of them would be happier if he wasn’t around to cause them such worry and grief. 

“It would have been better if I’d never existed at all, if I’d just never been born,” he muttered before he could stop himself, and then despised himself immediately after. What a juvenile, pathetically melodramatic statement to utter.

Albert rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe you just said that! All ridiculousness aside, you’ve actually seen the movie. Well, except for the ending, you fell asleep for that.” He gave Batman a reproachful look. “And the ending is the best part! Still, it’s an idea…” He looked skyward and scratched his head. “It sounds crazy, but what do you think?” He nodded after a minute. “I know. That part could be tricky.”

Batman shifted impatiently. This man clearly needed help. Psychiatric help.

Albert turned back to Batman and smiled. “So, you think life would have been better if you’d never existed? If you’d never been born? Alright then, it’s done. You’ve never been born.”

He stared at him, unimpressed. “Then why am I still here?”

Albert smiled. “You haven’t been born; it doesn’t mean you aren’t here.”

Batman exhaled and counted to ten. “Enough with these games. What do you want?”

“I already told you, I’m your–”

“Guardian angel. Right.” Batman glared at him in frustration. What was he going to do with him? He couldn’t just turn him loose; the man knew who he was.

“Your side’s all better,” Albert interjected suddenly, pointing. 

Batman looked down to discover that, sure enough, his side was no longer bleeding. In fact… He scrutinized it more closely; there was no indication that there had ever been an injury there.

“Your neck’s stopped bleeding too,” Albert added.

Batman glanced at him and then reached up to touch his neck. No wound there either. He was instantly suspicious. “How did you do that? Magic?” 

Albert shrugged. “You weren’t born, remember? You have no injuries. Your clothes are dry too.”

Batman laid a hand on his tunic and was surprised to discover that the man was right. He quickly pulled it back on and reached for his boots which were also dry. Come to think of it, both he and the shack had warmed up awfully fast after a dip in freezing water in arctic weather conditions. And Albert had never even seemed cold at all…

He shook himself. _You are not buying into this crap!_

Batman didn’t believe for one second that this lunatic was who he said he was, but that didn’t solve his dilemma; what was he going to do with him? 

He studied Albert. The man didn’t seem to have any interest in hurting him, but that didn’t change the fact that he knew who he was. Perhaps being a magic user had enabled him to discover his civilian identity somehow. It could also have contributed to his delusions that he was an angel. Madness. Batman could work with that.

“So, how long are you going to stay brooding over what to do with me?” asked Albert in amusement.

Batman bit back the snarky comment that rose to his lips. “If you really want to help me, then you’re going to need to come with me somewhere.”

“Sure!” Albert agreed enthusiastically. “Your reaction to all this should be entertaining.”

_Don’t. Hit him._ “Then follow me,” Batman ordered, striding forwards and pushing open the door of the shack. He stopped dead.

It was raining.

Batman stared around him, somewhat stunned. What had happened to the blizzard? Where was all the snow? “Did you do this?” he demanded, whirling on Albert.

The man shook his head cheerfully. “Nope. I’m good but this is beyond my paygrade. The big guy has pulled out all the stops for you tonight. And that should tell you how important he considers you.”

Batman twitched with anger. The sooner he got this madman to Leslie’s, the better. He swallowed down his irritation. “Let’s just go.” He reached into his utility belt for his grapple, only to find it gone. “Where’s my grapple gun?”

“I didn’t take it. There’s nothing in your belt because you don’t exist. Batman doesn’t exist.”

Batman was furious to discover that every single compartment in his belt was empty. “I want my equipment back!”

“I don’t have it. And you know I wouldn’t have been able to pick your belt because you would have felt it. Besides, where would I have stashed it?” He held his arms out to his side to indicate the lack of hiding places about his person. 

Batman frowned. “It must have fallen out when I was in the river.”

Albert rolled his eyes. “So, everything in _your_ super secure utility belt just happened to fall out?”

“Yes.”

“Jeez, Bruce, I know you’re a cynic, but I hadn’t taken you for delusional.” Albert sounded almost disappointed.

oOo

It took longer to reach Gotham’s Free Clinic than Batman had anticipated because they ran across three separate muggings en-route. Surprisingly, each mugger had put up a fight before being subdued; none of them had been afraid of Batman.

It troubled him, because since when had common street thugs stopped being afraid of him? Muggers rarely fought back – most of them usually ran as soon as he appeared. And if common muggers stopped being afraid of him, how long before other criminals followed? Batman wondered if it were a sign that men like Petrov really were winning.

He glanced at the man walking beside him. Albert had remained mostly silent during their trek to Leslie’s for which he was thankful: he didn’t think he could listen to any more of the man’s nonsense without losing it.

They turned into the alley where Leslie’s clinic was located, and Batman stopped dead. 

In place of where the clinic had stood was a ruined shell of a building. The roof had caved in, the door was gone and the windows had been smashed. Worst of all was the charring of the brickwork, as though someone had set the building alight. Batman closed and opened his eyes, but the building remained just as derelict as when they had turned the corner. He double-checked his surroundings to make sure he was in the right place, even though it was ludicrous to think he would make such mistake. But it was even more ludicrous to think that a building which had been standing here just over an hour ago now looked as though it hadn’t been used in years. The blood froze in his veins when he confirmed that he hadn’t made a mistake; they were exactly where they should be. 

And Gotham’s Free Clinic was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

Batman stared at where the clinic had been, unable to believe what he was seeing. What the hell was going on? The clinic had been right there just over an hour ago! And what about the people who had been inside? Dick, Leslie, Superman, Flash, Wonder Woman, Dr. Mid-Nite – that many people didn’t just disappear!

“How?” he whispered.

“There was an attack about six years ago,” Albert answered. “Two drug addicts came looking to score some laudanum. Leslie refused to give it to them so they stabbed her.”

Batman turned to him. “I remember that attack because I stopped that attack! Leslie needed a few stitches to her arm, but that was it.”

“No. Leslie was stabbed multiple times in the back and chest. She bled out before one of her volunteers found her.”

“That never happened!”

“It did,” Albert insisted. “Leslie died because you weren’t there to save her.”

“Yes, I was!”

Albert rolled his eyes. “No, you weren’t. But you keep telling yourself that you were. Denial is really healthy.”

Batman scowled. He hated sarcasm. 

“Well, well, lookey what we got here,” a voice sounded behind him suddenly. “A pimp and his– Ha! Check out this guy!”

Batman turned to find five men with shaved heads standing at the entrance into the alley. He frowned. Their clothes and tattoos marked them out as members of the Snakebacks, a white supremacist gang that had been disbanded thanks to the work of Commissioner Gordon and Gotham PD’s Gang Division. Batman had helped with the sting operation that resulted in the arrest of several core gang members. Seeing these men in the midst of all this did nothing to improve his mood.

“What are you supposed to be?” the tallest one sneered at Batman. “You know, Halloween is over, freak!”

Batman stared at him, unimpressed.

The man’s sneer twisted into anger. “Hey! I’m talking to you!”

“I don’t have time for this,” Batman ground out. “Leave. Now.”

One of the men produced a switchblade. “You think you can tell us what to do? This is our turf!”

The men moved towards them and started to circle them, while the fattest one leered at Albert. “Nice suit. Makes you look like the pimp I gutted last month.”

“Pimp?” Albert seemed completely unconcerned. “Damn. I was going for dapper.”

“Smartass, huh? I’ll show you.” The man unhooked the chain that was dangling from his belt and swung it menacingly as he approached Albert.

Batman moved to his aid because, annoying lunatic or not, he was still a civilian. However, a blow to his back forced him to return his attention to the other four men. He quickly took out the one who had struck him with a vicious roundhouse kick.

The remaining three men froze in shock, staring at the unconscious body of their companion. Their faces came up to stare at Batman and their expressions morphed from stunned to angry in seconds. 

“You’re going to regret that,” the tallest one promised, withdrawing a knife. The others did the same and the three of them rushed at Batman.

Weapons or not, it was insanely easy to take them down. Their technique was sloppy and ill-conceived, as the one to Batman’s immediate left jabbed towards his side with a knife. Batman parried the blow, and countered by flooring him with a blow to his temple. The second man swung at his head, and Batman jerked so that the man’s fist collided with the wall instead. As he howled and drew his shattered hand back, Batman delivered a lethal punch to his jaw that sent him reeling to the ground. The final man hurtled himself at Batman in a completely uncoordinated attack that the Dark Knight only had to sidestep. As the man tumbled past, he chopped his elbow down between his shoulder blades, before leveraging him headfirst into the concrete wall behind them. The man crumpled to the ground. 

Batman stared at the limp forms. Pathetic.

Turning to check on Albert, he was surprised to find that _his_ opponent was flat on his back, unconscious, while Albert was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He had obviously been watching Batman take down the other men. “We done?”

Batman pursed his lips. “Yes.”

“So where to next?”

“Gotham PD. I have no way of contacting Gordon to let him know about these men, and no way to restrain them. They need to be collected by the police immediately.”

“You think the police will arrest them?”

“Why wouldn’t they?”

Albert gave a vague smile. “No reason.”

oOo

They arrived at Gotham PD to find a vastly different building to the one that Batman was familiar with. For one thing, the front façade had been defaced by graffiti that little to no effort had been made to remove. For another, a ten-foot high chain link fence with barbed wire on top ran around its perimeter. There were also bars on the windows, making it look more like a prison than a police department.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Batman growled at Albert, when the other man opened his mouth to speak. He didn’t know what was going on here but he would get to the bottom of it, _without_ pandering to this lunatic’s delusions.

Albert shrugged and closed his mouth.

Batman studied Gotham PD. Along with the other security measures, two heavily armed officers were standing guard at the gate. He wasn’t going to be able to just walk in there. Besides, he would prefer if no one saw him until he spoke with Gordon.

He turned to the man beside him. “I need to speak with the commissioner. If I leave you here, will you be here when I return?” He was taking a risk, leaving him unwatched, but something told him that Albert wouldn’t run. And whatever was going on here was clearly more important than some crazy person who knew his identity.

“I’m going nowhere,” said Albert cheerfully.

Batman tried not to scowl. The man’s incessant cheer reminded him of Clark. “I won’t be long. Stay put.”

Blending into the shadows, Batman scaled the building beside Gotham PD. It was slightly trickier without his equipment, but not impossible. Reaching the roof, he assessed the distance between the two buildings. _About fifteen feet,_ he surmised and then frowned. That was quite a gap, and he didn’t have a cape to help him glide. Still, fifteen feet was not impossible, especially when the roof of Gotham PD was two stories lower. Batman backed up and took a running start, before launching himself off the roof. 

He almost didn’t make it. He fell just short of the building and had to seize the rickety old fire escape to break his fall. Clambering onto the steel, Batman climbed up onto the roof and then headed for the door to the stairwell. His frustration peaked when he realized he didn’t have his lock-picks in his gloves. This wasn’t the same as the missing equipment from his utility belt – this was like the picks had never even been there!

Less than thrilled at the noise he was being forced to make – he hadn’t exactly been quiet when he’d landed on the fire escape – he kicked the door down and quickly descended the stairs before anyone arrived to investigate the cause of the noise.

The only officer he encountered was a young rookie who did little more than widen his eyes at Batman before the Dark Knight knocked him out cold and hid him in an empty interrogation room. By the time he reached the commissioner’s office, Batman was troubled by the lack of police presence on the upper floor; where were all the cops?

Determined to get answers, he pushed open the door to the commissioner’s office and stepped inside. But the man behind the desk was not Jim Gordon, and Batman froze as he recognized the man staring back at him; Gillian B. Loeb, the corrupt Police Commissioner he had helped Gordon to bring down during his first year as Batman. This man was supposed to be locked up in Gotham Penitentiary, what was he doing _here?_

“Who are you?” Loeb demanded, rising to his feet. “How did you get in here?”

Batman ignored the questions. “Where is Jim Gordon?”

Loeb narrowed his eyes. “Gordon? He’s out on patrol somewhere. Why? You some buddy of his?”

Batman frowned. Loeb didn’t remember him? “You could say that. What are you doing in his office?”

“ _His_ office?” The man gave a guttural laugh. “Buddy, this is _my_ office.”

Batman clenched his jaw. This was becoming more Twilight Zone by the second.

Loeb stood up, unconsciously fingering the gun at his side. “What are you doing here? Did Gordon send you?”

The angry suspicion in his tone told Batman to tread carefully. Whatever was going on, Loeb’s deep mistrust of Gordon was obviously still intact. “I came to inform you that there are five men unconscious by Gotham’s Free Clinic for your officers to collect. They attacked me and another man.”

“If they attacked you, then how come they’re unconscious?”

“I neutralized their attack. And I suggest you send officers before they regain consciousness.” Batman turned to leave. Loeb certainly wasn’t the man to help him, and he needed answers. Fast.

“Listen, pal,” Loeb’s voice rose by several decibels, “I don’t know who you are, but no one comes into my precinct and tells me what to do! I’m not sending jack shit down there.”

It took considerable effort for Batman to swallow his anger. Getting into a verbal sparring match about the ethics of police responsibility would not serve him here. “It’s your call,” he replied coldly, exiting the office.

Once outside, he exhaled and headed back towards the roof. After his meeting with Loeb, he _definitely_ didn’t want to exit through the station.

This time he wasn’t so lucky; he ran into four officers and a young woman standing in the hallway. The woman was in handcuffs and one of the officers had her pinned against a wall, running a hand up her leg. “You know the drill, baby. If you don’t want me to charge you, then you gotta deliver a freebie.”

Her expression was angry and defiant. “I ain’t doin’ it in front of an audience, that’s not part of the deal!”

“Who said anything about a deal?” the man sneered. “We _own_ this town. And if you want to keep working your little street corner, you do what we say. Now, get on your knees and–”

“Hey!” cried one of the officers suddenly, spotting Batman. “Who the hell are you?”

All five of them focused their attention on Batman and his jaw tightened when he spotted two of the officers going for their guns. He moved before their fingers even brushed their holsters. 

Hurling himself at the nearest officer, Batman took him down with a hard blow to the jaw. As the man crumpled, he allowed his momentum to propel him into the next officer, where he delivered a savage knee-jerk to the man’s groin that dropped him like a stone. Whirling on the third officer, he grabbed the man’s wrist as he was pulling his gun from its holster and twisted it, forcing the man to his knees where he chopped down sharply on his neck. The officer fell forwards onto the floor.

An angry shout sounded behind him and Batman turned just as the fourth officer, the one who had been coercing the woman, lunged at him. The Dark Knight took advantage of the man’s forward momentum to grab his outstretched arm and toss him over his shoulder. The man smashed into the wall before dropping to the floor where he lay, groaning.

Batman turned to the woman. “We need to leave before they recover.”

The woman recoiled. “You crazy, homie? You know what they’ll do to me if I leave?”

“I know what they’re planning to do to you if you stay.”

She looked at him like he was insane. “It ain’t no big deal to suck off some cop so he don’t charge you! Every working girl knows that score.”

Disgust made his lip curl. Even at the height of Loeb’s corruption, things had never been this bad. 

She snorted. “Don’t give me that look. A girl does what she has to to stay alive in this town.”

One of the groaning officers was staggering to his feet. With a last frustrated glance towards the woman, Batman turned and fled towards the stairwell. His thoughts were whirling as he pounded up the stairs towards the roof. He could no longer deny that something was going on; the clinic, the Snakebacks, Loeb... It was like Gotham’s history had been completely rewritten! He needed to get back to Albert because, crazy or not, it was too much of a coincidence that all of this started just after he showed up. And one thing Batman did not believe in was coincidences.

Bursting onto the roof, he ran for the edge of the building. The sound of officers pursuing him thundered up the stairs and he increased his speed. After what he had just witnessed, he had a feeling that these men would shoot first and ask questions later, and he couldn’t afford to put himself out of commission until he fixed whatever was going on here.

Without taking the time to evaluate the drop, he jumped and twisted in midair, propelling himself over the barbed-wire top of the fence. His hands latched onto the lamppost just outside the fence, and he whirled around the upper bar to slow his momentum before dropping neatly to the ground. He didn’t even stop to draw breath before hurtling back to Albert. 

The man was exactly where he had left him. He was watching the front doors of the precinct with interest; police officers were dashing through it, pulling out their guns and shouting. Batman guessed that someone had raised the alarm about his presence.

“Things didn’t go as you expected, huh?” Albert commented.

“Move!” Batman barked, forcing him into a run away from the precinct.

They ran for several blocks before ducking into an alley, out of sight. Once Batman was certain that there were no police coming, he turned to Albert. “What did you do to me? Why am I seeing this?”

“You’re not _seeing_ anything,” Albert explained patiently. “This is really happening. You’ve been given a great gift, Bruce, a chance to see what the world would have been like without you. And this is what Gotham turned into – a violent city run by crime lords and corrupt cops. A city without hope.”

“ _Enough_ with this guardian angel crap!” Batman snarled. “Tell me what you did!”

“I didn’t actually do anything. Only the big guy could do something like this.”

Batman grabbed the front of his shirt. “I am tired of your delusions! There is no such thing as angels!”

Albert sighed. “You really are the most hard-headed idiot if what you’ve seen hasn’t convinced you yet. And if you’re going to keep shaking me like this, then I’m not sticking around until you’re ready to believe me. Go home, Bruce. Maybe what you see there will convince you.”

And suddenly, Albert was gone, leaving Batman alone in the alley.

oOo

Batman did return home. Not because Albert had told him to, but because it was the wisest course of action. There was little he could do in Gotham without supplies or transport – the Batmobile had been missing when he had returned to where he’d parked it. It also wasn’t the smartest move to begin a solo investigation when he couldn’t even be sure of his own senses: were the things he was seeing really there? Or were they a symptom of something else? Like hallucinogens or hypnotism?

Batman hoped he would be able to figure this out with Alfred’s help. And even more importantly, he needed to find out where and _how_ Dick was. With no sign of the boy at the clinic, and his contacts in the city mysteriously MIA, Batman had no idea how to go about finding his son.

His son. There it was again. That unexpected claim on the boy as his own child. The feelings it inspired were more than he could deal with right now, but for some reason, he couldn’t force them down like he usually did. Emotions were thundering dangerously close to the surface, making him feel strange and off-kilter. 

It almost sent him over the edge to discover that every single entrance into the Batcave was gone.

Batman scowled as he searched carefully around a wall of rock that was supposed to lead into one of the smaller entrances. This was insane! It was as if the entrances had never existed, and that just wasn’t possible. Because Batman refused to believe Albert’s insane claims. He was either hallucinating or sick, and that ridiculous movie he had watched with Dick a few nights ago was influencing his delusions. 

Resigned to the fact that he would not be entering the Batcave by any of the external entrances, Batman made his way back to Wayne Manor. Trudging through the woods that covered most of the vast estate, he emerged near the back of the manor and was surprised to find the house in darkness. Alfred generally remained up until he returned home, and he _never_ went to bed when Robin was on patrol. 

Finding the back door to the kitchen locked, Batman broke into Alfred’s gardening shed and retrieved some tools. He could practically feel himself snarling as he picked the lock on the door; he was breaking into his own house for Christ’s sake!

Unlocking the door, Batman pushed it open and entered the darkened kitchen. He wasn’t sure which hit him harder; the smell of misuse or the noise from the alarm. Moving over to the alarm panel, Batman entered the code to shut off the deafening noise, blinking when it didn’t work. Had Alfred changed the code without telling him? Suddenly, the kitchen light snapped on. Batman turned, and felt the ground drop out from under him.

Thomas Wayne stood in the doorway to the kitchen, pointing a shotgun right at him.

“Dad?” Batman whispered disbelievingly, his sense of reality warping around him. 

“ _Excuse me?!_ ” Thomas Wayne growled, and pumped the shotgun. “Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?”

Batman shook his head dumbly, unable to respond. His father had been dead for more than twenty years, how was he _seeing_ this?

A bullet whizzed past his ear and shattered a glass panel in the door behind him. “I asked you a question, punk!” Thomas Wayne yelled.

Batman held up his hands in a non-threatening gesture. “I’m not here to cause trouble. I was just looking for Alfred.” This was his father. His _father._

“Alfred? Alfred Pennyworth?” The man’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know Alfred?”

It caused him indescribable pain to see his long-dead father look at him with such suspicion. “We’re…old friends.” And oh, how he longed to ask about his mother.

Thomas Wayne snorted. “Such friends that you come looking for him here when he hasn’t worked for me in more than four years?”

 _What?_ Batman’s head reeled slightly. The one absolute that he’d always had was Alfred. The older man had always been there for him, the last real connection to his parents. He had always assumed that Alfred had been as much family to his parents as he was to him. Discovering otherwise shattered everything he knew about them.

“But…” Batman shook his head. “Where is he? Why did he leave?”

Thomas Wayne’s suspicious expression wavered, but he still didn’t lower the shotgun. “He went back to his family in London. He just wasn’t able to stay in Gotham.”

“Why wouldn’t he have been able to stay in Gotham?” Batman demanded, stepping forward until his father jerked with his shotgun for him to back up again. “This is his home!”

“It was never his home after that whole business with Joker and the Arkham breakout.”

Batman went cold. “What…business?”

Thomas Wayne frowned at him. “The breakout five years ago?” When Batman shook his head, the man’s frown deepened. “How can you not know about that? It made headlines around the world!”

Something wrapped itself around Batman’s chest and squeezed hard. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Thomas Wayne squinted at him, his expression guarded. “Alright, fine. Five years ago, there was a mass breakout from Arkham. The inmates laid siege to the city for almost two weeks. It was absolute carnage and hundreds of people were killed. Alfred was in the city when the breakout happened, and got caught in the worst of it.” He looked Batman straight in the eyes, his expression grim. “A school bus full of middle-schoolers were returning from a field trip just as it all kicked off. Joker managed to blow out the tires and trap the children on the bus.” 

Batman watched as his father swallowed before continuing. “Joker doused the bus in petrol and set it on fire. Alfred…Alfred was running from some of the other escaped inmates when he came upon the bus with the children screaming for help inside. He tried to get them out, but…” Thomas Wayne shook his head. “He was never the same after that. He suffered some bad burns and lost two of the fingers on his right hand, but it was what happened to the children that drove him out of Gotham. He said he could hear them everywhere after it happened.”

The pain on his father’s face was echoed in Batman’s heart. _Oh, Alfred._

“Why…why did Gotham PD allow the siege to go on for so long?” Batman asked, forcing the question past the lump in his throat. 

Thomas Wayne gave a bitter laugh. “Gotham PD won’t even protect the city against the ordinary criminals! They’re certainly not going to risk themselves in a war zone. No. Half of Gotham’s _finest_ fled the city, while the rest either hid themselves or holed up in the station where they could fight off the crazies. It wasn’t until the governor declared a state of emergency and sent in the National Guard that the siege ended.” 

Batman felt ill. “Why didn’t the Justice League intervene?”

“Who the hell are the Justice League?”

It was the last straw. Reality crumbled and Batman felt himself sag against the doorframe as the world shrunk around him. Was there no end to this nightmare? 

“Hey! HEY!” Thomas Wayne’s angry voice shattered the shock that was settling over him. “Don’t you pass out here!”

Batman looked at him in anguish. Hearing his father speak to him like that caused an indescribable ache in his heart. He had always been a man to help those in distress, but now he sounded so angry, and cold, and uncaring…he was nothing like the man Batman remembered.

“Dad…” he said before he could stop himself. He wanted so badly to tell his father…oh, a hundred different things that he’d always wanted to tell him, but never thought he’d get the chance to say again.

Thomas Wayne started before his face twisted in anger and his grip tightened on the shotgun. “That’s it. Who the hell are you?!”

 _I’m your son,_ Batman longed to tell him, but instead he shook his head. “I’m no one.”

“Then get the hell off my property!” 

A terrible grief that he hadn’t felt since he was a child seized him, threatening to completely shred his last ounce of sanity and self-control. “I’m sorry to have bothered you,” he managed, before slipping out the kitchen door and back into the darkness once more.


	7. Chapter 7

Albert was waiting for him at the edge of the woods. “Do you believe me now?”

Batman shook his head wearily. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

“Believe that the world is a better place with you in it. That you make a difference to the people around you.”

 _This is insane._ Batman scrubbed at his eyes in exhaustion. “Why is my father still alive?”

“Without a young child, your parents were able to stay much later at the theater on the night they were supposed to have been murdered, and thus never encountered the man who killed them.”

“So my parents would have been better off if I’d never been born,” Batman concluded, the knowledge weighing heavily on him. “Without me, they never would have died.”

“Everybody dies. The only thing that changes is the manner and time of your passing.”

“How can you say that? They’re alive because I’m not here!”

“Your father is alive. Your mother passed away from cancer eight years ago. And it was a long illness that devastated your father.”

“But he’s alive. That counts for something.”

Albert shook his head. “You know as well as I do that there are worse things in life than death. Your father was forced to watch the love of his life succumb to a slow and agonizing death, powerless to help her. Then he loses Alfred, the only person he had left in the world, to violence. He’s alone in the world with nothing but memories to keep him company, and a struggling Wayne Enterprises keeps him tied to a city that is the earthly equivalent of hell.”

Batman had no response to that. 

“And you speak of your father being alive because you weren’t here,” Albert continued, his tone the most serious it had been all night. “Do you know how many thousands died because you _weren’t_ here to save them?”

“Thousands? Now you’re just exaggerating. I know how many people I’ve saved, and it doesn’t fall into quadruple digits.”

“Yes, it does. Think about it. I’m not just talking about every person that you’ve physically saved as Batman, but the people you’ve saved just by putting criminals away before they could commit further crimes. I’m talking about the people who were saved by Bruce Wayne’s acts of charity, as well as the people who were saved by the Justice League – because without you, the Justice League was never formed. It all adds up to a lot of people, Bruce.”

“My existence, or lack thereof, should have no bearing on the origins of the Justice League; I wasn’t its only founder.”

“But you were instrumental in its creation. Without you there to strategize, the Appellaxian invasion where you all worked together for the first time – and which led to the forming of the League – had some tragic consequences, resulting in the deaths of several civilians as well as the Flash. After that, Superman was the only one who thought that working together would be in the world’s best interests, but he couldn’t convince the others. And don’t forget, it was Bruce Wayne’s funding which allowed the League to get off the ground in the first place.”

Batman pursed his lips, trying to think up something that would disprove what Albert was saying, because it wasn’t possible for one person to influence so much!

“Joker!” he snapped at last. “How do you explain Joker? I was responsible for his creation, yet he still exists here.”

“No one is responsible for Joker’s creation except Joker himself. He became the Red Hood and turned to criminal activities _before_ he encountered Batman, so Batman didn’t need to exist for him to attempt robbing the chemical plant on the night he fell into that vat of chemicals. You were just replaced by a police officer as the man who chased him in there.”

So the Joker could exist without Batman, but not the League. The unfairness of it left a foul taste of bitterness in Batman’s mouth.

Albert put a hand on his arm. “Don’t you see how important you are? How much you matter?”

Batman put his head in his hands. It was a staggering thing to be faced with his own worth. It seemed that all of the people he cared about were– wait! Not all of them!

His head shot up. “Where’s Dick?”

Albert looked away. 

“Answer me,” Batman growled. “Where’s Dick? Is he alive?”

“He’s alive.”

Something in Albert’s voice made his heart plummet. “Albert, where is he?”

The other man sighed and looked back at him, the expression on his face sad. “After his parents were murdered, there weren’t a lot of opportunities available to a circus orphan with a price on his head. And without Bruce Wayne to take him in…” Albert shook his head. “He was sent to Gotham’s Juvenile Detention Center.”

“Juvie?!” Batman’s voice was a shout. “They put a nine-year-old _child_ in _juvie?_ ”

“Gotham CPS felt it would be the safest place for him. Tony Zucco had a hit out on Dick, making it impossible for any foster family or orphanage to take him in. Unfortunately, once he was in the system, he fell between the cracks and CPS sort of forgot about him.”

“You mean he’s still _in_ there?” Horror didn’t even begin to describe Batman’s feelings.

Albert shook his head. “He was moved somewhere else eventually.”

“Where did they move him? Take me there at once!” Batman seized Albert’s shirt in his urgency, but this time the man didn’t get annoyed. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes!”

“Okay. But, prepare yourself, this isn’t pretty.”

Albert clicked his fingers and the world around them began to turn slowly. The woods faded away and gradually, lights and a room swam into focus. Eventually, the world stopped turning and Batman found himself in a small white room. They had apparently just shifted through space without any effort at all.

He was too tired to ask how that was even possible. Besides, only one thing mattered to him now. “Where’s Dick?”

Albert’s response was to raise a finger and point behind Batman. The Dark Knight turned to find a bed. He moved towards it, stopping dead when he recognized its occupant.

Dick.

The boy was pale and hooked up to a ventilator, a feeding tube and several monitors. The EEG showed no sign of brain activity. A low moan escaped Batman. 

“Juvenile Hall literally tore him to pieces,” Albert explained quietly. “He was too young, too small and too innocent to survive in there…especially with a price on his head.”

Batman took one of the lifeless little hands in his and closed his eyes. “How?” he asked, the question coming out on a ragged breath.

“Some of the inmates wanted to cash in on Zucco’s reward, and he was offering more for Dick dead than alive. Dick’s first Christmas in there, they managed to corner him in a bathroom while the guards were organizing the gift-giving. They beat him to within an inch of his life – broke nearly every bone in his body and left him in a vegetative state. He’s been here ever since.”

 _Oh, baby, no._ Batman’s heart felt like it was shattering into a million pieces. His mind flashed back to Dick’s first Christmas at the manor, not long after he’d started training as Robin. The boy had been small for his age, so small and skinny, and vulnerable in his grief. The idea of him being cornered like that and so brutally attacked by boys bigger, older and stronger than him was more than Batman could bear. He rested his head against a cold little cheek. “Oh, Dickie,” he whispered miserably. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to save you.”

He remained like that for a long time, his head resting gently against Dick’s, one wasted little hand clasped in his, until Albert’s voice broke in on his grief. “Bruce, we should go; the nurses will be doing their rounds soon.”

“I’m not leaving him.”

“Bruce, you have to–”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do!” Batman spat, whirling on Albert, rage and grief at the injustices of the evening spilling out. “Not after this! You tell me that some _God_ supposedly cares enough about me to show me this crap, but what about Dick? Doesn’t he care about him? Why are his options so brutal? To be tortured and stabbed by some sadistic crime lord or to have every shred of life beaten out of him by a vicious mob!”

“This might be hard to understand, but sometimes things happen for a reason.”

Batman hated that expression. “What possible _reason_ could there be for a child’s suffering?!”

“I know it doesn’t seem fair, but–”

“ _Fair?!_ ” Batman snarled. “He’s an eleven-year-old child for chrissakes! He doesn’t deserve this!”

“You’re right, he doesn’t.”

“Then why put him through it?”

Albert sighed. “Dick was always going to be doomed without you. It’s why you were at the circus, even though you hate it, on the night his family were killed. So you would witness what happened and take him in.”

“Wouldn’t it have been better to ensure that Tony Zucco _wasn’t_ at the circus instead?”

Albert shook his head. “There are some things that we can’t interfere in. Things that need to happen for the greater good. Zucco was one of those things – Robin needed to be born.”

Batman gritted his teeth. “I can’t listen to anymore of this crap! Leave. Now.”

“Bruce, getting angry at me won’t–”

“Just stop talking and get out.”

“Bruce–”

“I SAID GET OUT!”

Albert vanished. Batman blinked, surprised that he’d actually done it. The man hadn’t exactly been the epitome of obedience so far.

Man or angel? 

Batman sighed tiredly. He honestly didn’t even know anymore. 

Turning back to the bed, he stared down at Dick’s pale face, running his hand gently through the dark hair. It was longer than it should be, and somewhat lank. He reached out to grasp Dick’s limp hand again, swallowing hard at the child’s wasted frame. There was something indescribably agonizing about seeing his active little boy reduced to nothing but a shell.

A sound that might have been a whine rolled out from the back of his throat and Batman bowed his head. He didn’t know how to make this right. His boy was beyond saving here, but even if he were to return to his own world…time… _whatever,_ there was no telling if Dick could still be saved. Batman wished he knew how that stupid movie ended, maybe it would tell him how this nightmare ended.

Sighing again, he leaned down and planted a soft kiss on Dick’s forehead. “I’ll work it out, kiddo,” he swore quietly. “I swear I’ll save you.”

“What are you doing?” a female voice screeched suddenly from behind him. 

Batman jerked around to find a nurse framed in the doorway. “Get away from that boy!” she yelled, backing into the hall. “Security! SECURITY!”

Dammit. Batman gritted his teeth and looked back down at Dick. He wasn’t ready to leave his child just yet. 

But as footsteps echoed in the corridor, he realized that he would have no choice. If he was going to save Dick then he couldn’t afford to get himself caught. Swearing furiously under his breath, he glanced at the window. Far too small for him to fit through. _Door it is then._

With one final glance at the child in the bed, Batman hurtled through the door and almost collided with two security guards. Immediately, he dropped to the floor and knocked one of them to the ground with a sweeping leg kick. The other he took out with a swift uppercut as he rose quickly to his feet again. He ran past the nurse, who screamed and pressed herself against the wall, and headed for the stairs. He wasn’t sure if they would consider him enough of a threat to power off the elevators, but he also wasn’t taking that chance. 

Bursting into the stairwell, Batman could hear the sounds of pursuit behind him. The security guards were back on their feet and one of them was yelling into a walkie, which warned Batman to expect trouble before he got out of the hospital.

Sure enough, on the second last level of stairs, he was greeted by two more security guards coming at him. Increasing his momentum, Batman barreled into them with full force, toppling them like bowling pins. He continued to run without even taking a moment to steady himself: the guards behind him were getting quickly to their feet, and Batman needed to put some distance between them.

The bottom of the stairs led out into the ER, and Batman had to push past doctors and nurses as he ran. He was almost to the exit when he spotted two police officers just inside the doorway talking to a doctor. 

“STOP HIM!” one of the security guards who were chasing Batman yelled. The officers turned and moved into defensive postures the instant they spotted him.

The Dark Knight kicked out at a nearby trolley, sending it flying towards the officers. One of them was knocked to the ground, while the other was forced to jump out of the way to avoid it, allowing Batman to hurtle past them. He shoved past two doctors as he exited the hospital, regretting the use of force against medical personnel. The two police officers were now in hot pursuit, one of them calling for backup on his radio.

Batman guessed that his description would generate a massive manhunt amongst any nearby officers; he’d already assaulted four officers within their own precinct, and his uniform was too distinctive for the police to not recognize him. Without any weapons or a safe place to hide, Batman wasn’t sure how long he could evade them for – not when he was in the sights of the two officers chasing him.

His guess was confirmed when a police car coming towards him increased its speed and turned on the siren.

Batman turned down the nearest alley and sprinted towards the chain-link fence at the end, where he hurdled over it to the other side. Continuing to run, he heard the tell-tale clink of someone else climbing the fence. Darting out into the next street, Batman encountered another police car that immediately changed its trajectory and began to pursue him. 

With a growl, he changed his own course, veering right and using the roof of a nearby parked car to vault onto the bottom rung of a tall building’s fire escape. Without his grapple gun or any of his cloaking devices, taking to the rooftops was the only way to lose the police.

He started to climb the fire escape just as a bullet buried itself in the wall beside his head. Batman felt something grim shift inside him: they weren’t aiming to incapacitate, they were aiming to kill. He increased his speed, knowing it was harder to hit a moving target. Reaching the roof, Batman could hear the approaching wail of several sirens and the clatter of someone clambering up the fire escape after him. Pausing just long enough to take a few deep breaths, the Dark Knight started to run again and launched himself onto the roof of the next building. He continued to run, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, while the echo of gunfire sounded behind him. 

The wail of sirens drifted up from below, as several police cars chased him along the streets parallel to the buildings he was racing across. Changing course again, Batman turned left and jumped, clearing an eight foot wide gap. He tucked and rolled as he landed hard on the roof of the next building, before springing to his feet and proceeding to sprint forwards and leap onto another building.

He was several rooftops away when Gotham Bridge, the place where all this lunacy had begun, came into view. Batman headed straight for it. If anything, he could completely lose the police by diving into the river and letting the current take him downstream.

Climbing down quickly from the roof he was on, Batman used the shadows of the empty streets to hide, while he headed for Gotham Bridge. The loud wail of several sirens told him that more cars had joined the search, but their proximity told him that they’d lost sight of him for now. He was breathing heavily from exertion as he approached the bridge, exhaustion from the night’s events and emotional upheavals weighing heavily on him. Batman couldn’t help but wish he was home, his proper home, and not this nightmarish parody. He made a difference there. Here he was all alone, without the means to truly help anyone – including those he cared about. 

But most of all, Batman just wanted to get back to Dick. He wanted to be with his little boy while there was still hope that he could save him. Really save him – not just engage in revenge on his behalf.

A blast of freezing air hit him as he reached the bridge, and he quickly climbed onto the steel girders. But before he could jump, he was grabbed from behind and pulled off the bridge by a strong figure who yelled at him, “What the hell are you doing?!”

The voice was familiar. Batman turned and blinked at the figure in blue and red.

“Are you crazy?” Superman bellowed at him, a furious look on his face. “Jumping into the river in this weather…are you _trying_ to get yourself killed?!”

Weather? Batman frowned and glanced around. Several inches of snow covered everything around him. A few flakes were still falling.

“It’s snowing,” he whispered.

Superman started, and then squinted at him in concern. “It’s been snowing for hours. Batman, are you– hey! You’re bleeding!”

“You know me?” demanded Batman, bringing his hand up to where Superman was staring at his neck. A dark stain was visible on the tips of his gloves when he withdrew his hand again.

Superman’s eyes widened. “Of course I know you! I’ve been looking for you for hours! Did you get hit in the head?”

Batman was beginning to wonder that exact same thing.

A hand landed on his shoulder. “Batman?”

He shook his head. “I’m fine. How’s Dick?”

“I don’t know. He was still in surgery when I contacted the clinic an hour ago.”

Dick was still alive. Relief edged with fear flooded Batman. “Can you take me back there?”

Superman tilted his head, looking uncertain. “Are you sure you’re alright? You look…jittery.”

“I’ll show you jittery if you don’t take me to Dick right now!” Batman growled.

“Fine, fine.” Superman held up his hands in a calming gesture. “Lets go.” Grabbing Batman, he took off.

As the two heroes flew through the air, Batman’s thoughts were troubled. Had Albert and all the nightmarish events that followed been real? Or had he just suffered some kind of mental breakdown? Batman wasn’t sure which option was worse.

They drew near the clinic and Batman could feel his heart start to pound. He swallowed hard. There wasn’t much he feared, but he feared this – losing the child that had come to mean so much to him. He wasn’t sure if it was something he could come back from.

And Heaven help Gotham without its Dark Knight.


	8. Chapter 8

Arriving at Gotham’s Free Clinic, Batman felt a brief frisson of relief at seeing the building intact. Muttering his thanks to Superman, the Dark Knight tore up the steps to the front door and yanked it open. The main room was empty, so he headed for the back room where Dick had been, because surely he was out of surgery by now?

He carefully pushed open the door to find Dr. Mid-Nite clearing away remnants of the operation, tossing bloodstained scrubs and towels into a bin. Leslie was standing beside Dick, one hand clutching his while she watched the monitors. Both adults looked up as Batman entered.

“How is he?” he asked, moving towards the bed at once.

“Stable,” Leslie replied, looking tired. “Bruce, where have you been? We were worried sick!”

“Stable,” Batman repeated, ignoring her question as he stared down at Dick. The boy was still unconscious and an oxygen mask had been fitted over his nose and mouth. “What does that mean?”

“It means we need to monitor him very closely for the next forty-eight hours.”

Batman kept his gaze on Dick’s pale face. “Why?”

“Dr. Mid-Nite is concerned about further haemorrhaging and intra-abdominal fluid collections. Not to mention that conditions for the surgery weren’t completely sterile, putting him at risk of infection and sepsis.” Her tone was rising in its anger. “What were you thinking bringing him here?! He nearly _died_ , Bruce!” 

“I know,” he whispered, bringing his eyes up to meet hers. “Leslie, is he going to be alright?”

Her expression softened and she sighed. “He’s still very weak. The knife punctured his stomach and transverse colon, and nicked the right gastroepiploic artery. It took a lot of work to repair the damage and like I said, he’s going to have to be watched very closely for complications.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. Will he be alright?”

It was Dr. Mid-Nite who answered, joining them by Dick’s bed. “If he can make it through the next few hours without developing any complications, then he’s in with a strong chance. He’s quite the little fighter, Batman – there aren’t many children who could have made it through a surgery like that after so much blood loss.” 

Batman wanted to scowl because that wasn’t exactly reassuring, but managed to restrain himself. “What about his other injuries?”

“The gunshot was a through and through. Clean. Minimum damage. We were able to patch it up fairly quickly. But his shoulder…” Dr Mid-Nite sighed. “There was substantial nerve damage, and he’s going to need a lot of physical therapy once it’s healed. It won’t be an easy recovery, Batman.”

Batman was ashamed to admit that he was okay with that so long as there _would_ be a recovery. He looked back at Dick. Someone – probably Leslie – had tucked a warm blanket around him. If it weren’t for the oxygen mask and the swathe of bandages across his left shoulder, he would have looked peaceful. Batman moved one hand towards the boy’s hair and gently brushed it away from his face. “How long before he regains consciousness?”

“Not for a while,” said Leslie. “We’re keeping him sedated to give his body a chance to rest. We’ll start bringing him out of it tomorrow evening if his vitals improve.”

Batman swallowed. Dick was going to miss Christmas Eve. He had promised the boy they would do something together on Christmas Eve, and now Dick was going to miss it completely because a sociopath had considered him fair game. His heart ached from the unfairness of it all.

The sound of voices drifted in from the front room and Leslie released Dick’s hand. “Bruce, I need to see who that is. I’ll be outside if you need anything, okay?”

He nodded, not taking his eyes off of Dick’s face.

“I’ll go with you in case you need assistance,” Dr. Mid-Nite offered, as Leslie headed for the door.

Batman knew the other man was only leaving so he could be alone with Dick, and he was grateful for the man’s discretion.

The door closed behind them and Batman pulled back his cowl, becoming Bruce Wayne. It was easier to be a concerned father when he wasn’t wearing the guise of Gotham’s Dark Knight. He grasped one of Dick’s hands in his and addressed the unconscious child. “Oh, Dickie, I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you. And for yelling at you before we went on patrol. I know I’m not very good at this whole parent thing, but I promise I’ll do better. I just need you to fight really hard and get through this, okay, kiddo?”

As expected, the only response was the steady beeping of the monitors. Bruce knew Dick was heavily sedated and completely unaware of his surroundings, but part of him wished the boy would open his eyes and respond.

“You’re not grounded anymore,” he continued quietly. “I was wrong to ground you in the first place and I behaved like a total ass. I know it’s no excuse but I was only trying to protect you, because the idea of you not being here–” he swallowed back the lump in his throat, “–it just doesn’t bear thinking about.” Bruce ran his fingers through the dark hair for the umpteenth time that evening. “Please be okay, Dick. I need you.”

By now, the noise from the outer room had gotten progressively louder, and Bruce glanced towards the door. What was going on?

As if on cue, Leslie poked her head in. “Bruce? I’m sorry to interrupt, but could you come out here for a moment?”

She looked oddly flushed and Bruce frowned. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything is fine. I just think you should see this.” She disappeared back into the front room.

He stared after her for a moment before returning his attention to Dick. The last thing he wanted to do was leave his boy, even for a minute, but Leslie wouldn’t have come looking for him if it wasn’t important. Reluctantly, he let go of Dick’s hand and pulled the cowl back on. Pushing the door open and striding out into the room beyond, Batman stopped dead. 

The entire Justice League stood there.

“What are you all doing here?” he barked. 

“They came to help,” Superman replied, stepping forward.

“Help?” Batman growled dangerously. Oh, this had _better_ be good.

Superman nodded. “I contacted the League after you disappeared. I couldn’t take down Petrov and search for you at the same time. I didn’t intend for the entire League to get involved, but once word got out about what Petrov had done to Robin–”

“We weren’t letting that scumbucket get away with it!” Green Arrow interrupted, a ferocious look on his face. 

“You can yell at me later,” said Superman quietly. “But for now, Petrov is safely in police custody with enough evidence to make sure he stays there for a very long time.”

Batman narrowed his eyes. “You got something on him?” 

“I persuaded Petrov to tell us where the drugs were hidden,” Wonder Woman answered, patting her lasso with a grim smile on her face.

“It was the only time we used the lasso,” Superman added quickly when Batman scowled.

“And we helped Gotham PD raid the safehouses once Petrov revealed where he had stashed the drugs while Superman looked for you,” Black Canary spoke up.

“The houses were all in Petrov’s name,” Flash added, “automatically linking him to the drugs.”

“And we were able to…uh, _convince_ the flunkies standing guard to name their employer,” Green Arrow put in, smirking.

“Plus, we got a statement from a witness who identified Petrov as the one responsible for the current batch of bad drugs in Gotham,” Hal Jordan interjected.

A witness? Batman glanced at Superman. 

The Man of Steel’s expression was grim. “One of the men from the warehouse where Petrov tortured Robin. Turns out he wasn’t exactly comfortable with doing that to a child, and he agreed to testify against Petrov in return for leniency.” 

Batman stared around the room at his fellow Leaguers. He knew he wasn’t the easiest person to work with: he barked at them, doubted them, talked down to them… Yet they had dropped everything to help him the instant Superman had called. Batman couldn’t help but be touched by their loyalty. 

His gaze landed on Superman. The Kryptonian was watching him with a resigned expression. “So, how mad are you?”

“I’m not mad.” Batman was somewhat surprised to discover that was true. He usually hated other heroes interfering in his city and his business. 

“You’re not mad?” Superman squinted at him. “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head? You’ve been acting very strangely since I found you on the bridge.”

Batman shook his head. “I’m fine.” He turned back to where the rest of the League were watching him cautiously, as if waiting for an explosion. Batman was almost sorry to have to disappoint them. “Thank you for your help.”

There were more than a few raised eyebrows at his words, and he saw Green Arrow not-so-discreetly nudge Black Canary.

Flash grinned. “Wow, Bats! It’s like Scrooge in _A Christmas Carol_ when he– uh, never mind,” he finished, as Batman glared at him.

“Okay, that’s a bit more like you,” said Superman with a small grin. 

Batman snorted.

“Are you really okay with this?” asked Superman seriously, when the other Leaguers began to talk among themselves. “I wasn’t going over your head, I just–”

“Its fine,” Batman interrupted, holding up one hand. “If tonight has taught me anything, it’s to be grateful for what I have. Clark, I want to thank you. For everything you’ve done this evening. I owe you Robin’s life.”

Superman looked at him doubtfully. “Are you _certain_ you didn’t hit your head?”

oOo

Christmas morning dawned white and cold at Wayne Manor, where Bruce was keeping an anxious vigil by Dick’s bed. He had barely left the boy’s side since returning to the clinic two nights ago.

Having made it through the first twenty-four hours without developing any complications, Dick’s vitals had started to improve, and Bruce had begged Leslie to let him bring the boy home. She had been reluctant at first: Dick was still at risk of developing complications, and Leslie wanted to keep him where she could watch him closely. But Bruce had argued that Wayne Manor was quieter and more private than the clinic, and that the Batcave possessed every medical necessity should Dick need it. Not to mention that Wayne Manor also contained the watchful eye of Alfred. Eventually, the steady stream of flu-stricken and hypothermic patients through the clinic in the wake of the blizzard had convinced Leslie that Dick would be better off at home.

As roads were still treacherous after the storm, several members of the Justice League had volunteered their services to ensure that Dick was transported safely back to Wayne Manor. But because it was after midnight by the time Dick was comfortably settled at home, Leslie had recommended waiting until morning before bringing Dick out of the sedation. It meant Bruce had to endure a second night by his child’s bed, helplessly watching and waiting. Alfred had tried to convince him to get some rest, but Bruce had refused. He wasn’t leaving Dick’s side. Not for one second.

Sometime after dawn, Alfred had begun to wean Dick off the sedatives, and over the course of the last hour, the boy’s sleep had become more restless while he teetered on the cusp of consciousness. But he had yet to open his eyes, and the wait was agitating Bruce’s already frayed nerves. He knew Dick was out of the critical stage, but he still had a ways to go before he would no longer be at risk of complications. 

He watched Dick mutter in his sleep and felt his heart twist. He was longing to hear the boy’s voice and see him open his eyes. It had only been two days, but he missed the child’s bright presence so badly, it hurt. The idea that this silence could have been permanent… Scrubbing at his eyes, Bruce leaned forward in his chair. He had come so close to losing Dick that he was still frightened by it. He had a feeling it would be a long time before that fear fully left him. It didn’t help that he couldn’t get rid of the horrific image of Dick wasting away in a hospital bed, attached to an EEG that measured no brain activity.

Bruce was having trouble discerning whether the whole nightmarish ‘other Gotham’ had actually happened, or whether it had just been a figment of his trauma-addled brain – although the rational part of him wanted to rule that out: it had felt too real. Not to mention that Bruce’s highly logical personality meant he wasn’t exactly a candidate for delusions and nothing short of a powerful neurotoxin could have induced such vivid hallucinations. Besides, Leslie had performed a full physical on him back at the clinic, at Clark’s insistence – the Kryptonian had had some bee in his bonnet about Bruce getting hit in the head. But aside from needing some stitches for the knife wound to his side, there had been nothing wrong with him. His blood work was also clear, removing any logical explanation for the whole Albert-and-a-Gotham-without-Batman thing.

Bruce had yet to decide whether that was a good or a bad thing. 

A low moan from the bed drew his attention; Dick’s fingers were twitching. Bruce was on his feet and leaning over the boy in seconds. “Dick? Dick, can you hear me?”

“Brssss?” came a thin little hiss, as Dick’s blue eyes slowly fluttered open. 

“Hey, kiddo,” Bruce whispered, relief coursing through him as he rested one hand carefully on the top of Dick’s head and smiled down at him. “Welcome back.”

Dick blinked, and his eyes rolled sideways to take in his surroundings before coming back to his guardian in drowsy confusion.

“You’re home,” explained Bruce, stroking Dick’s hair. “I thought you’d be more comfortable here. How do you feel?”

“Sore,” Dick croaked.

Bruce winced. Despite the potent cocktail of painkillers he had insisted upon, Leslie had warned him that Dick was still likely to feel some pain. “On a scale of one to ten, how bad is the pain?”

Dick frowned slightly, as if thinking. “Five?” he ventured at last.

Bruce sighed. That wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “I’m sorry, kiddo, but you’re not due anything for another hour; you think you can last that long?”

Wincing, Dick nodded. 

Guilt gnawing at him, Bruce grasped Dick’s hand in his right, while the fingers of his left hand continued to stroke the dark hair. “Oh, Dickie. I’m so _sorry_.” 

It felt a lot better saying it when the boy was actually conscious to hear it.

Dick’s eyes widened slightly. “But this was my fault.”

“No.” Bruce shook his head. “No. It wasn’t your fault. I should _never_ have brought you into Gotham in the middle of a blizzard. It was dangerous and selfish of me. And I’m the one who’s sorry, kiddo. I’m sorry for bringing you to face Petrov, and I’m sorry I yelled at you before patrol.”

Dick’s eyes were saucers as he stared at Bruce, and the billionaire felt a pang as he realized that this was the first time the boy had heard him apologize for something. It seemed there was a lot he was going to have to look at with regards to his parenting. 

Very carefully and without letting go of Dick’s hand, he moved to sit on the edge of the bed and fixed the boy with a serious expression. “I have made some terrible mistakes with you, Dick, and I haven’t exactly been a great parent. But that’s all going to change. I’m not saying things will be perfect from now on, but I promise that I’m going to try.”

“You’re better at it than you think,” Dick offered quietly.

“It’s not enough. You deserve the best.”

Dick blinked, his mouth moving soundlessly. “You really mean it?” he whispered finally.

Bruce nodded.

“Huh.” Dick was silent for several minutes. 

Bruce remained quiet as well, allowing the boy time to digest what he had said. After the anguish of the last few days, he was happy just to be with his son. 

_His_ son. Bruce allowed himself a small smile. 

“Bruce?” 

Dick was staring at him, a slight pinching around his eyes that Bruce guessed had something to do with the pain. The billionaire felt a stab of guilt; he would give anything to take that pain away. “Yeah, kiddo?”

“I’m…I’m sorry I told Wally my identity without your permission. I shouldn’t have done it.”

The downcast eyes and sorrowful little expression tore at something inside Bruce, and he suddenly understood why Dick had revealed his identity. “It’s okay, Dick. I’m guessing Robin was kind of lonely and wanted someone he could talk to about superhero stuff, huh?”

Wide-eyed, Dick nodded. “How’d you know?”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret. Until Robin came along, Batman was pretty lonely too.”

Dick’s mouth fell open. “ _You_ were lonely?”

“Everybody gets lonely. Even Batman. And it’s okay to get a little lonely or scared sometimes, even when you’re a hero.”

“So it doesn’t make me a coward if I do?”

Bruce shook his head. “Dick, it isn’t really that brave to do things you aren’t afraid of, but to be afraid of something and to do it anyway? That’s brave.”

“I never thought of it like that before,” said Dick, his expression thoughtful.

“I know.” Bruce patted his legs through the blankets. “I want you to know that you can talk to me about this stuff, Dick. No matter what it is, I’ll always listen.”

Dick nodded, then bit his lip. “Does this mean you’re not– you’re not mad anymore?”

“Oh, Dickie. Of course I’m not mad.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Bruce leaned forward and tightened his hold on the boy’s hand. “I trust you, and I know you wouldn’t have told Wally if you didn’t trust him. But I still want to speak to him, mind – I want to make sure he understands just how important it is that he doesn’t say a word to anyone.” It had just occurred to Bruce that if anyone could frighten a teenager into keeping a secret, it was Batman.

Dick positively beamed at him in relief, and Bruce felt his world lighten to see the child smile. “That’s better,” he said, smiling back. “Now, do you need anything?”

“I’m a little thirsty,” Dick admitted. “Can I have a drink of water?”

“Just a few sips. Leslie said to start small for the first few days.” Bruce retrieved the glass of water that Alfred had left on the nightstand and held the straw to Dick’s lips. The boy immediately gulped thirstily. “Whoa! Easy there, kiddo,” cried Bruce, withdrawing the straw. 

“Sorry,” Dick mumbled. Then his eyes widened. “Oh, no! Bruce, did I– did I miss Christmas?”

“You missed Christmas Eve,” Bruce replied, inwardly cringing at the disappointed little face. “But today is Christmas Day. And we’re not having Christmas dinner or opening any presents until you’re well enough to do it with us.”

“But doesn’t that mean you and Alfred will miss Christmas too?”

“It’s not Christmas without you,” Bruce told him quietly. 

The boy gave him a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Tell you what,” said Bruce, wanting desperately to erase the crestfallen expression from the child’s face, “why don’t we watch a Christmas movie together?”

Dick eyed him sceptically. “What if you fall asleep again?”

“I think it’s more likely that you’ll fall asleep before me,” Bruce said, chuckling. “What do you say? We could watch the movie from the other night; I never did get to see the end and I’ve heard the ending is the best part.” Even if he had been told that by someone who was potentially a figment of his imagination.

“Okay,” said Dick, beginning to look excited by the idea. 

“I think the DVD is still in the den,” said Bruce, getting to his feet. “Just let me run down and get it. I’ll be back in–” he broke off when he caught sight of the DVD in question on the dresser. “Huh, looks like Alfred already brought it up,” he said, picking it up.

Someone had scribbled something on the cover and he squinted at the writing.

_Bruce,_

_Like the movie says, “no man is a failure who has friends.” Remember yours the next time you feel despair and stop spending so much time in the dark. There’s a world filled with light out there._

_Albert._

Bruce’s head spun. Holy shit, it had really happened! The whole insane angel and alternate reality thing had actually happened! 

“Bruce, what’s wrong?” Dick’s voice broke in on his shock. 

With difficulty, the billionaire forced his eyes up from the cover of the DVD. “Nothing,” he managed to get out. “Just…just reading the cover. Here, let me put this on.” Striding over to the entertainment unit, Bruce inserted the DVD with trembling fingers. It had happened. It had really happened. A fucking _angel_ had come to him and shown him what the world would have been like without him! Or maybe he was dreaming this moment–

“Bruce?” The wobble of confusion could be heard plainly in Dick’s voice. “Are you okay?”

_Reel it in, Wayne._

Taking a steadying breath as he turned on the television, Bruce plastered what he hoped was a normal smile on his face and turned back towards the bed. “I’m fine, kiddo. You ready to watch the movie? I can give you something for the pain in thirty minutes if you’d prefer to wait until then?”

Dick shook his head. “The movie will help to distract me from the pain.”

 _Ouch. Poor baby._ “Movie it is then.” Bruce grabbed the remote and moved towards the chair he had spent the night in.

“Bruce?”

The billionaire looked at where two hopeful little eyes were fixed on him. “I don’t suppose you could…lie down beside me?”

“Dick, you’ve just had major surgery–”

“Please, Bruce!” he begged. “Don’t worry, it’s a big bed. You won’t squish me.”

That was only part of what he was worried about. The other part was terrified of jostling Dick and hurting him. But the pleading expression won out and Bruce sighed. “Alright. But if this hurts you even a little bit, you have to promise to tell me straight away.”

Dick nodded eagerly.

Grabbing two extra pillows from the closet, Bruce returned to the bed where he propped them to the right of Dick’s head: his injured shoulder made the left side a no-go area. Kicking off his shoes, Bruce lifted the blankets without uncovering Dick and eased himself onto the mattress.

“You okay, buddy?” he checked, reassuring himself that Dick wasn’t being jostled in any way.

“Uh-huh.”

Carefully sliding into a half-sitting up, half-lying down position, Bruce then skimmed an arm beneath Dick’s pillow, gently elevating him until he could prop his head on Bruce’s chest. 

“Comfortable?” Bruce asked, eyeing the boy anxiously. He hoped he hadn’t jarred anything when he’d raised him up.

Dick smiled up at him. “Yeah, thanks, Bruce.”

“Then let’s start this movie.” Bruce pressed play on the remote and the room filled with the opening music of _It’s a Wonderful Life._ The billionaire couldn’t believe he was watching this after what had happened to him two nights ago.

Albert had been real. The whole crazy-ass experience had been _real._

Bruce didn’t know if he would ever be able to tell anyone about it. How the hell could you even begin to explain something like that?

But as he looked down at the small, dark head nestled against him, he realized that it didn’t matter. He understood his purpose a little better now – in more ways than as just Batman. For the first time in a long time, he could see beyond the darkness to where there was light; light in the form of a bright child who could chase away the shadows. 

And Bruce knew that was all he would ever need to keep him from getting lost in the dark.


End file.
